Home

'Home' was a writing prompt I responded to.

Steel wool on a spool-

I made a spider’s web.

The spider grabbed one end and pulled,

Puzzling, “what kind of thread?”

It pushed me in and made me spin.

“Serves you right for copying me.”

The thread turned like a skipping rope,

But not a children’s game for me.

“I’ll be trussed up, I’ll be eaten.

Mocked a spider- now I’m beaten.”

“Come along now,” they all said.

“It’s fantasy. You are not dead.”

But if that’s true, where am I now?

It isn’t home somehow.