Cathedrals

by Kimberly Phinney

CATHEDRALS

We went out early 
to water our tomato tree, 
a ripening Park’s Whopper 
potted beside the yellow onions. 

From the stalk to the ledge 
there was something 
birthed overnight:
all air shine, 
fine-threaded and intricate 
it stretched, 
holding court 
with drops of dew,
gleaming in the light.

Oh! I gasped,
as I marveled 
at the spider’s web.
How she must have 
toiled in the dead 
of night to produce 
this holy silk:
so delicate, too,
and yet so indestructible.
Those tiny spires 
and vaulted ceilings 
patterned with her chisel, 
all held tight at the center 
and spun out hexagonal.

At once, I was gazing 
at the Gothic turrets 
of Notre Dame 
before the fires 
marred her.
At once, the flowers 
in the foreground 
became the spider’s 
stained-glass windows,
and I felt the urge to kneel
and kiss the ground
in prayer. 

And I heard:
Who needs the trappings 
of four walls
or to travel to the city,
when everywhere 
in nature
there are cathedrals?

Kimberly Phinney is an educator, English professor, and photographer. She’s been published in Ekstasis, Fathom, Truly, Calla Press, The Dewdrop, and more. She is the founder of the faith community and literary journal, The Way Back to Ourselves. You can visit her on Instagram @thewayback2ourselves.