I have no need to claim divine right for I am already a goddess
of ants. Crawling up my thighs to my hands,
where I stand at the foot of my bed.
Clasping carnelian rings to my chest, I tilt my chin to the crease
where only I can allow another body to lay.
And those who crawl with the ants on my earth
may feel my passion while they wretch at my blade
they themselves must pull from their neck.
I will not wait on them.
I will not heal them.
I don’t pretend that any of this is mine. I will fade
as quickly as people fall from faith,
calling religion myth.
I don’t mind. I can stomach existing as part,
but this body I own.
I will lay on sheets stained with red soil and canola oil.
And when Orion finally rests, I will once again feel
the millions of biting pinpricks telling me they have risen
from the tunnels, whispering,
It’s time to wake up.
(Featured image from insecte.org.)