Spider

The conversations--
all two of them--
we've had this week
are stilted
awkward
yearning.

We want to tell each other more.
We don't know how
We can’t remember.

Instead of jumping into the canyon
I’m building a wall against it.
But I’m still throwing strands of my hair
down.

I still don’t understand your motives
if you even have any.

Sylvia Plath would be so disappointed in me.