Friday, March 21, 2014
I was a naive giant when the first platoon mounted an assault on my leg. It was like Iwo Jima from the ants’ perspective, a contingency of antfantry had been commanded to stick something sharp in the bulge of my kneecap, which is how I first became aware of the attack. I slapped at the stinging sensation so suddenly I must have knocked the little heroes from here to eternity.
After I moved my feet out of their territory, brushing the first wave from my skin, I took a closer look at their fortifications, poked at the sand pile with a sturdy branch, and the earth seemed to gush, a virtual cauldron boiling with ants just beyond my feet. I was impressed. I was horrified. I stepped back to let them vent.
“Honey” I shouted, “come look at this.”
We both stood and stared at the ground, backing up as their ranks swelled.
“They sure look pissed. What did you do to upset them?”
“I stepped on their city.”
“Is that all?”
“Then I excavated their earth dome with this stick.”
We stood so quietly the ants must have thought we’d left. Then we were no more than two trees shading the ruins, two pillars of salt, a couple of eddies in an ocean of subterranean tides.
Friday, March 14, 2014
On the Practice of Daylight Savings
The clocks, advanced one hour, save
no one, not the imaginations of oblivious children
exhausted by the dark while waiting for school buses,
still comatose from that lost hour of sleep.
Not the shadows lengthening into evening
like tails on a tuxedo, all dressed up without
the energy to dance. Like Sisyphus’s rock,
we know pushing the sun back up the hill
won’t keep it there, and the gods won’t change
the sand in our hourglasses, and this life,
as we know it, remains fixed like a nail in the wall
where we grab a hat on the way out.
Friday, March 7, 2014
The storm this morning at 4 a.m.
woke me from a deep sleep,
tossed me onto my back
so I couldn’t help staring at its dark belly.
It took me a full minute to understand
I was safe, but by then the wind
whipped up its own little nightmare,
stripping limbs from the trees
as if splitting a stump into kindling.
By the sound of it
the moon that had been packed away
behind a thick padding of clouds
shattered as it struck the side of the house.
I sat up, pulled my blanket closer
for the sake of all the fragile things.