Tiny feet scurry toward the tunnels of home. Like motorists crying and driving. The sky is asleep, the day hourless. If they could speak, I’m sure they would ask, “Where are all the bachelorettes?” but they’re carrying little boulders in their jaws, the way a lion carries an impala by its broken neck. I wish … Continue reading Antsby Brad Rose
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Ants by Brad Rose
Tiny feet scurry toward the tunnels of home. Like motorists crying and driving. The sky is asleep, the day hourless. If they could speak, I’m sure they would ask, “Where are all the bachelorettes?” but they’re carrying little boulders in their jaws, the way a lion carries an impala by its broken neck. I wish … Continue reading Ants by Brad Rose