Editor’s note: This poem was written by staff reporter Sophie Starnes and was featured in the Chickasaw Anoli contest. Starnes is a card-carrying member of the Chickasaw nation and regularly writes poetry. To have your own poems, stories, or essays featured on The Red Ledger, email [email protected]

In a web of my own making

 

I am lost in a maze,

a ball of red yarn

clasped tightly in

my trembling grip.

 

Step after step I go,

each footfall leaving

behind a mark so light,

I wonder if perhaps

I have turned to air.

 

Red string stretches,

miles and miles all

across the maze,

thin lines zigzagging

sharply from path to path.

 

I’m in the middle

of the maze now,

and I’m stuck in the center

of the red web I made

and I’m trapped by the

paths I have chosen

and I am waiting for the

spider to come

and take me away

but the tricky thing is

 

I am the spider.