I have seen a red kneed tarantula  

lend herself a rebirth, like a closed bulb 

of waxy night opening for day,

she starts off on her back

pushing a fresh life out

the new legs wrestle with old

skin, a sunburn finally healing.

A mouth stuffed with petals

gasping for air,

browning and twisting.

A spasm of electricity,

the legs twitch ajar

until the old skin is on top.

I am similar in the way

my body calls to me.

The shoulders lean forward 

with the skin of my breasts 

kissing the soft rolls of my stomach.

My wrists can no longer hold me in

child’s pose without shaking.

The once smooth face now grows

a thick layer of hair across the jawline,

and when I look into the mirror,

I think about her, a spool 

of unraveling girlishness.