Black and White Ants

Posted on March 13, 2009

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Even the cakes and black ants cannot contain
the messes we’ve made for ourselves.
I spend hours in the kitchen
baking cakes of red anger
and black silk using
white knots of worry as frosting.

I’d hold your hand and play
ring-around-the-rosy
but we’re just

spinning in circles in spinning in circles in spinning in circles and spinning in circles

and we
are
getting
nowhere.

It’s all coming up and coming out loud
and I don’t know if I can stop myself this time from using the handle
as a ledge into a life
of apathy
woven into tears.

You ask if I’m okay,
you ask if I’m fine,
and I reply why yes! I’m as well as I was yesterday
(for whatever it’s worth)
because even though I tire of being in the same town every morning
I’m never quite tired enough to leave.

We eat dinner and lunch and dinner again and we keep running our mouths
like engines in ten year old cars.
We fill our ears with kindling and spew petroleum,
our tongues spit the sparks.

The fire will climb up into our souls.

We eat a dinner of fruits of overdone thought and a roast of timidity and
we’ll keep plunging our forks into the food and passing the bowls to the others at the table
but there never is an end to our hunger.

We’ll spill the wine of selfishness
and the milk of fear to make it go away
but there is no end to our hunger.

It’s the ache
the anger
our elbows on the table cloths.

Dinner is finally removed from the table and dessert is brought in.
After we finish our plates we sit and cry
because even though the cake was decadent!
delicious!
delectable!
delightful!
we howl because our stomachs are emptier than before.

We’ll take blood, we’ll take water! Whatever fills the holes inside.

You ask if I can help with dishes and I do not reply because I eat the black and white cake alone at the other end of the table.

Even the black ants cannot clean up the messes we’ve made for ourselves.
I spend hours in the kitchen
baking cakes of red anger and
black silk using
white knots of worry as frosting.

You ask if I’m okay,
you ask if I’m fine, and I reply why yes! I’m as well as I was yesterday
because I eat my misery alone.

black_ants

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