Wednesday, April 25, 2007

The Ants
(Draft 1)

The stone slate, broken in uneven slabs,
Cemented to form a courtyard floor,
By the town hall, in Ashland,
Is laid on by lime green needles
That fell from the shady trees whose
Leaves look like miniature, green, unpainted
Oriental fans. Or like giant algae,
The size of a baby’s hand.

Scaly, feather like chips of flowers
Who have passed from their youth
At the end of a stem to this iridescent slate
Touch the stone delicately, like a woman’s hand
Illuminated in the moonlight, touched to
Her lovers face.

In some cracks, brown green piles
Of the needles, and some mulch chips gather.

An ant zig zags.
He carries something, white and pink:
A bite of the pod like feather flowers
All crisp and flaky like paper, and dead.

He marches off with his prize.

And another one goes, frantically.

The ants move, more than before, the longer
The gaze holds, the more ants appear.

They skim the stone like uncontrolled
Children driving bumper cars, or like ice skaters.

1 comment:

mespeicher said...

This is a fun piece. Cool descriptions that make me feel like I'm looking at it with you.
In the 2nd paragraph the description of the flower sounds like it should translate into an (old) womans hand reaching to her lover.

I saw what you were seeing as I read it. The description of what the ant was carrying is interesting..what is a pod? or is it pod-like? flowers? feather like flowers or feather-like?

I like the end. It's humorous to envision the bumper cars. Can you leave off the skaters, by chance? It confuses me because they are two very different movements.