Finding the Hidden Spider
I thought myself master of my classroom,
ruler of its small domain —
setter of patterns, keeper of lore,
shower of secrets.
Then, clearing out a bookshelf
for a slender volume lost,
I found a book of poems not sought,
largely forgotten, believed lost,
jammed inside a battered Scripture
where it bent a bookmark
and three pages of Job.
While students bickered,
I opened Tony Brown’s Spark,
to find a pale white spider drawing
lines of paler gossamer across
the poet’s grammar.
Even in this room I pretend to rule,
ten thousand things occur that
I do not understand.