Ode to Nephila pilipes by Kaleb Atkinson

I see you.

The long, spindly legs traversing a dew slicked web.

I’m reminded of Arachne, that ancient, cursed soul bested by pride.

Her weaving her downfall. Yours, my muse.

Dooming insects with whirling patterns etched into soft silk.

Enveloped in a warm embrace before being condemned by fate.

It’s not your fault. You aren’t disgusting, or cruel.

I see you, your lineage, your spool.

The yellow and white stripes of your abdomen, predatory,

bobbing as you wait.

You are a silent hunter of Artemis weaving moonlight

into the perfect trap for flitting prey.

Bowstrings drawn taut, mandibles poised and ready to spring into action.

Artemis and her arrows. You and your fangs.

Needle sharp instruments of death.

Oh, you ancient forgotten sister of the Fates.

The weavers of life and death who stole your renown

and condemned you to gardens and tree limbs.

I see,

No.

I free you. I release you into the ephemeral aether of your origin.

Climb once again the threads binding Heaven to Earth on padded soles,

traverse that which we cannot,

remind us of that which is lost.

Reclaim your crown.

Bio

Kaleb Atkinson (he/him) is a rising senior majoring in Biology and English at Centenary College of Louisiana. His work focuses on combining scientific facts with poetic verse in order to illuminate the intersections between seemingly disparate fields and to encourage those engaged in both Scientific and Literary discourses to explore novel ways of writing and thinking. He seeks inspiration throughout his laboratory work and daily life, and has work published in 11 Seconds Magazine, Queerbook 2024, and Pandora, an on campus literary magazine.

Author's note

Growing up in the South, my front porches, tree limbs, and, sometimes, even mail boxes were often adorned with Golden Orb Weavers. I always thought their legs were too spindly and that their chelicerae were too pointy to be comfortable around them for long, but I was mesmerized by their ornately designed webs. This basal level intrigue finally overwhelmed my unease when I learned about the myth of Arachne and realized that these off-putting arachnids could possibly be the descendents of a legendary history. I recently began observing these masters of weaving with fresh eyes, and began drawing connections between them and other legendary figures from Greek mythology. With each thread binding ancient history and modern day tighter and tighter, I couldn’t help but craft an ode to what Nephillia pilipes are, what they could have been in the past, and what they may yet become. Filled with Grecian myth and scientific fact, this poem tracks the mental evolution of arachnids from spindly-legged monsters to descendants of beauty and power.