By Haley Bossé
Every morning asks me
Whether or not to kill the ant
Climbing up my bathroom wall.
Today, the ant is lucky.
Today, I’m swimming
With the ghosts
Dripping through the knuckles
Of my atoms,
Doing who knows what
Other than entering
And exiting
And subsuming me,
Anointing me
In cosmic energy
And also the ant
Who turns
Their head and asks
Is this god?
Before summiting
The empire of the glass
And disappearing
Beyond the edge.
Haley Bossé is a queer, non-binary early childhood educator from the Pacific Northwest. Their poems have recently tried their hands at haunting such places as Strange Horizons, the Nimrod International Journal, en*gendered lit, All My Relations, and Bullshit Lit’s Horns Imprint. Others are content to lurk within their phone notes. Find Haley on Twitter.
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