August
Across the summer sky I see upside down
Suspended swinging on tall grass
Letting the only breeze sweep some distance into view.
A time when there was no past---
couldn't remember anything well
because nothing had happened yet.
The breeze held no power outside itself.
Was it that ignorance is bliss?
If it is, it isn't perfect.
Only a memory is.
I went inside after a while.
At the kitchen sink there was a line of a hundred ants
Walking back and forth from the window sill
to an empty can of Vernor's on the counter.
Goddamn roommate never rinses anything.
Probably a hundred more, drunk on ginger ale
down at the bottom of the can.
Now back out back to set them free;
I curse the day that guy moved in.
And they all start crawling out, all over my hand.
But without a scent trail, no memory back
Running into each other, frantic in some human way
Asking with their feelers what to do.
Where are we going?
Nowhere.
Can't remember.
Nothing.
You're on our own.
Days later, still wandering
Maybe twenty feet from home,
Do they end up building new memories, new hills
Like the rest of us humans?
Or does an instinct force them to remain instead
That small part of something left behind
Forgetting to remember any previous way
Not needing search because everywhere is home.
Someone said ignorance is bliss
but it's not perfect.
Only a memory is.
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