the simple act of cleaning
or even harvesting a potato
can wreak havoc on beings.
a solo spider
whose web i have no idea how long it takes to construct
to create to spin its web its home its food gatherer
& i have no idea
of how time even occurs to any one spider
of all the spiders i see
and i see them
a simple swish of a damp towel
a movement of this arm
and a home, an elegant, complex tool
and sometimes, too, the spider.
it’s hard to know
(when given the task
accepting the task
which webs to leave?
which webs to destroy?
i am unaware of any logic to the choice-making.
and then there are the potatoes.
among entire communities.
entire worlds, a network, a nursery…
and exposed with one turn of a digging fork.
the sudden activity
the gathering up of babies
the spilling out of ant bodies
on the what-is-now surface
i stomp my feet & shake my hands
knocking the potato gently
shaking off the ants
so they are left behind
with their people
& not kidnapped
the ones in the bucket
soon their fate will be drowning
unless, of course, they can crawl out of the bucket
which is unlikely.
so much destruction
this world seems not set up for very very slow…
i long to move with all the time in the world
as a great giant tortoise would
through a day
lives could be saved
and still, the work could get done.