SPIDER BITE AND THE DANCE

JOHN CIMINCELLO

My great-grandmother said the bite of a spider has many cures,
potions and poultices, charms and concocted remedies,
and yet the tonic best for a bite is the beat of a tambourine.

In the center, the rhythm and turn
stretch the silken web and weave
in the whirl of a tarantella,
we breathe and bleed
to the frenzy of the music.

When the sting of longing burns
we give up what doesn’t work,
what fails to cure the itch,
and every spinning change moves
closer to the healing.

With every step, the nets unravel
suffocation eases and
the bite of desire releases its pincers,
the trance suspends all law, water runs uphill,
mountains begin to move.
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Around and around we slip the knots
of what betrays and restrains us,
we dance to untangle doubts and debt,
sins and poison,
we escape the addiction of ourselves
and the mask of words,
the shadow play, the power grab,
and we abandon every broken rule
to make way for a new commandment,
a new sacrament, a new prescription
to celebrate the euphoric remedy
of the dance.