By my hand the tiny
ants were disinterred to
Death; a consequence
of lavender
plants added to the grasses of
this front-yard hill to fill
the air with fragrance and feed
our greedy eyes an added
measure of delight.
Their firmament was
under foot and out
of view, lightless among
the roots of grass
how shocking, I imagine, the
shovel blade to be, unroofing
the world, unwalling the way, tearing
through tunnels leading to
familiar destinations and in
the way of colonies, duties fulfilled.
Reaching to where the soil roiled, I met
their fury, or fear, or reflexive instinct as it
spilled upward; they climbed my garden
glove to bite my wrist and hand
Brushing them away, I killed their
indignation with casual effect, before
the thought that welcomed
the sting – and found
these rightful owners of
this patch: not guilty.
No ill intent this
day that sought to bring a sweeter
fragrance to each breath; an
unintended consequence of
lavender that I should disinter
a naïve world, unearth this
camp of innocents
to death.
-fin
DLK