Poem: Ant Sting

 

 

Ant Sting

 

an irksome sockful of ants

swells my ankle to realize that 

mandibles are the forerunners of war.

 

i curse

 

the unsoothing graveyard of sun above,

and the crumbly switchbacks below,

 

unappeased by tender whiffs of sage,

or summery musks of rosemary.

 

yes, i curse both sun and earth,

 

and too the loathsome nettles,

those phacelia and longspur,

projecting from every niche.

 

as if the drained soil 

were nothing but a chuckle of cracks

daring seeds and insects

to call its scorn their home.

... 

 

seeds and insects, yes,

decillions and decillions of them,

accreted and attrited over eons and eons

to stir a slow pot,

 

thus the genesis.  thus humanity.

 

i am kin of the arid proboscis,

consigned to the desert,

jealous and bitter,

stung more than i sting.

 

i fret and pinch, knowing full well 

that we human stole primordial secrets,

grew them into cities.

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6/21/24 ... heavy mods

12/10 ... lots of modifications to the second half.  brutal.