It started with a black widow
who crawled out of a rolled-up rug
when we moved in with each other. 
We both felt sad that I killed it. 
Though we agreed it posed a threat,
we shared remorse at its demise. 
No more vanquishing arachnids. 

Each who scampers across the floor,
scrambles up from wall to ceiling
or dangles from the shower head
shall be caught within a juice glass,
confined by a piece of junk mail 
and gently transported outdoors
to live someplace else, not with us. 

For example, the wolf spiders 
we find inside our apartment
will never meet a grisly end. 
Our policy of ahimsa
has released many to the yard –
they roam free, wild as their namesake
hunting by the light of the moon. 

I like to think their predation 
keeps insects out of our dwelling. 
Orb weavers we liberated
to the hedge beside the driveway
trap house flies before they enter.
Jumpers on the back patio 
prevent ants from coming indoors. 

And at this point I should mention
that our code of nonviolence 
does not cover hornets. In fact,
a mud dauber building her nest
on our front porch as I write this
will return from forage to learn
her modest home has been destroyed.  

By my hand, each time she rebuilt,
I crushed the tube she made from dirt –
not because she preys on spiders
nor due to fear of being stung,
but since more aggressive species
will seek shelter in her abode 
after she has moved on from it. 

Doing this gives me no pleasure. 
I hope she will be discouraged 
enough to lay her eggs elsewhere.
Besides, she is not to blame,
a casualty of our bias
against hostile yellowjackets
whose nature precludes tolerance.