top of page

Ripples in the Mirror

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.


bottom of page