Are We Still Here?
By
David Mason
Between the woodpile and the window
a line of small black ants is moving,
some to the north, some to the south.
Their constant industry is admirable,
as are their manners when they pause
in meeting to exchange a touch.
I must have brought their home inside
for fuel, heating my small house.
And if it burned I too would move
along all points of the compass rose,
touching my neighbors on the path.
a line of small black ants is moving,
some to the north, some to the south.
Their constant industry is admirable,
as are their manners when they pause
in meeting to exchange a touch.
I must have brought their home inside
for fuel, heating my small house.
And if it burned I too would move
along all points of the compass rose,
touching my neighbors on the path.
Share this column
Disclaimer
We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2018 by David Mason, “Are We Still Here?” (2018). Poem reprinted by permission of David Mason. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.