when I go to get my sixth soda water,
I noticed a tiny brown spider tucked away
in the corner of the door, where the seal
meets the cold, white metal.
how did he (or she, I do not claim to know spider sexes on sight)
get there, and why did he (or she) get there?
did he (or she) crawl from outside the front door,
making his (or her) way through the living room,
into the kitchen, and then decide to get cozy near the cold cuts?
he (or she) wasn't there a moment ago
when I ate six raspberries without washing them,
and then again when I just opened the fridge
from boredom, stared inside for a long moment
before closing the door again.
was he (or she) hatched in this house,
or did he (or she) come in on a shoe,
riding high on laces of black Vans
only to be stranded in a strange tile land?
now I am left with a dilemma:
do I let him (or her) live his life by the lemonade
or do I try to catch him (or her)
and release him (or her) into the wild,
but what if he (or she) is a house-raised spider
and thus releasing him (or her) kills him (or her)?
the existential crisis in the kitchen
culminates with me trying to get him (or her)
onto a paper towel with a butter knife,
accidentally stabbing one of his (or her) legs off,
giving up and squishing him (or her) into said paper towel,
and moving on with the rest of my day
as if I hadn't taken the life of a non-binary arachnid.