Her grey gaze slants upward.
The bare bulb dangles,
shadowing collarbones rigid behind the print housedress.
She squints at the incandescence
tied to webs of newfangled electric lines.
Behind the white-glaring filament, another thread hovers --
A spider's steel web spiraling toward the center trap.

Farm wife, she peers, dreams broken
like the web she will sweep from the ceiling.

by Judy Stokesberry