Tuesday, April 30, 2013

its own desire

Thinking of Madame Bovary 
by Jane Kenyon 
The first hot April day the granite step
was warm. Flies droned in the grass.
When a car went past they rose
in unison, then dropped back down. . . . 
I saw that a yellow crocus bud had pierced
a dead oak leaf, then opened wide. How strong
its appetite for the luxury of the sun! 
Everyone longs for love’s tense joy and red delights. 
And then I spied an ant
dragging a ragged, disembodied wing
up the warm brick walk. It must have been
the Methodist in me that leaned forward,
preceded by my shadow, to put a twig just where
the ant was struggling with its own desire.

1 comment:

  1. Ohhhhh...and the Baptist in me is LOLing, Ruth! :D


Welcome. If you would like to say something, rest assured that I will respond in my self, even if I do not respond in word.