My daughter comes home from college and says, 
“That dead spider is still there!” 
Trapped under the clear light switch plate in the hall
Splayed like a butterfly specimen under glass.
This is the primary reason she thinks 
we live in a pigsty. (We don’t).

I grew up 
an only child with a single mom - an artist -
In a small house with hardwood floors and no sugar snacks,
I wanted things
to look like my friends’ brown-paneled, thickly carpeted, cozy 
family rooms with fridges stocked with Tombstone pizzas and fruit roll ups.

My artist mother would’ve left that spider there
And tried to convince me it was Charlotte.

I tell my daughter:  I didn’t even know that spider was there.