Spider Town

David Rowbotham

In the cathedral of my heart
There were a thousand voices.
Time and song had come to thiw:
The eminence of my enemies,
Known but once,
Before a thousand lies.
Over the congregation of cloud
Presides the apparition,
Until my mother’s leaning kitchen
Is the last place alive.
Trapdoors outside open up the earth and let the thunder in,
Chipped teacups rattle the day my mother dies.
My father’s rapid hammer stops, mid-air, in mending shoea.
Cobwebs smother engines of escape from truth.
In the valleys and the palaces of dance
Where crosses move in a pebbled wood,
The apron of my father falls about me
And his honest little shop is gone,
Like all the rest in a spider town,
But leaving all the great white houses
Long forgotten and gone for good.