Arachnophobia

Tree Crabs

I have become the unlikely Protector of the Spiny Orb Weaver

Photo of a Tiny Tree Crab, by Holly Jahangiri

There’s a tiny tree crab
suspended, in the morning sun,
between my crepe myrtles.
Like me, she crochets —
yarn bombing the trees, sometimes.
Yarn bombing my husband’s face,
Sometimes.

She weaves intricate, lacy doilies
And lays them out, delicate,
awaiting breakfast.
She does not like my coffee.
This is good.

My unlikely little friend has learned —
or passed down knowledge
to her kin — to weave somewhat
above the level of the human face.

Where once upon a time,
I would have seen her, crouched
within concentric circles, overhead,
and yelled, “Kill it, kill it, kill it!!”
I now stand staunch guard, a friend.
My husband, doing yard work, is allowed
to move her, gently, with a stick.
She does not seem to mind rebuilding.