I opened my mouth and spiders came out.
I opened my mouth and my tongue was a web
made from the letters of your name.
I couldn’t see around their legs
or your letters
so looking in the mirror became a horror show.
I could barely brush my teeth without choking on a vowel.
He promised he’d clear these spiders out of here,
why hasn’t he come yet?
I’ll snap the strands between these consonants.
I’ll dust the cobwebs down my throat myself
if he won’t help me.
These furry corpses stick to my teeth,
turn the words poised on my lips into a crime scene.
My stories stink of dead and rotting things.
Sydney Cloonan is a speech-language pathologist and writer living in Queens, New York. When she is not working at a special education elementary school, you can usually find her snuggled up on the couch with her partner, her dog Hannah and her cat Helo. Sydney lives her life based on two true things: there is no greater snack than peanut butter and it’s always a good night to watch a horror movie. Sydney’s first chapbook, maybe., is available through Bottlecap Press.