I found a spider in my shower once.

It was drowning in a single droplet 

wrapped around its head, 

and for a quick moment,

I thought nothing of spiders, 

but of helmets and space suits instead.

I quickly turned the water off 

and watched it sway back and forth 

on the corner where tile meets tile 

before making to pick it up and 

carry it away. 

I don’t think it saw me, 

yet still it managed to avoid my 

ever-wet hands with a side step 

and slide,

slow dancing with the wall it seamed. 

Eventually,

I had to find a soft paper 

towel to delicately engulf and snatch with,

at last lifting it up like nothing at all. 

The paper managed to soak up the water 

of its head 

and the beads of its body, 

though still, 

it never did crawl out of that towel. 

I wonder how many spiders

are in my drain

and if they blame me,

pray to me,

fear me;

I wonder if they saw me at all.

I wonder if they would rather crawl out 

or crawl in when it begins to rain like it 

does every evening at 7pm, 

and whether it feared my hands more than 

the faucet. 

–now aware