“I wrote this poem after seeing a striking photograph of a nearly translucent crab spider (family Thomisidae) perched on a flower. After some light Internet browsing, I found that instead of weaving webs, these spiders use the flower to catch prey, waiting for unsuspecting butterflies and other insects to land in search of nectar. These spiders can even camouflage themselves to match the color of the petals of their host bud. In this poem, the spider molts, creating another self. The spider is both body and vacant shell; the flower is both grave and house. I was interested in these doublings. In many ways, I think this poem addresses a kind of hospitality in nature, even, and especially, when it is a site of death. The poet Rachel Levitsky once told me that spiders are poets, and I think this is true. I haven’t (intentionally) killed a spider since I was a girl. I love to encounter them in my home and in the world.”
—Emily Skillings