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THE COBWEB
by Raymond Carver
A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that’s happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I’ll be gone from here.
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Footnotes
If Mr. CarPeo did not have Mrs. CarPeo in his life,
this page would not exist.
If Mr. CarPeo did not have Mrs. CarPeo in his life,
he would have stopped breathing years ago.
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