The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2005

The Mud Dauber

After three days

she stopped coming back,

stopped looking

for the mud nest she’d built

under the eaves

by the front door,

stopped seeking the larvae

I’d washed down the drain

with the hose

while slowly melting

that cluster of tubes.

It ran first

in rivulets of tan

and brown

against the blue siding,

then rained down

in small chunks

with the pale yellow

grubs and water,

splashing my legs,

soaking my sandals,

until the last organ pipe

of mud gave way.

I should have

hosed it down

earlier, before

the eggs were laid,

before the painstaking

construction was almost

completed. But

I’d been too busy

to go out that door, to

look up, to consider

the harmlessness

of her sleek black

body and wings,

the whir of her

as she worked,

or the spiders

she stunned

and carefully placed

in each cylindrical cell

for her young to eat,

just as I

placed plates

of blueberry pancakes

before my children

this morning.

Mary Petrosky