All that I can do, each day, is try. Small as an ant, I try to pick up a boulder that crashes, then crushes my windpipe (ant-sized), my metaphor capsizes, drowning in futility. But what if it’s stronger to keep being? Squished ant, yes, but anti-apathy. The ant scrambles, traverses for a crumb to bring home, to add to the communal store-mound. There is no ceremony, only survival. Everybody eats. Exchanging stomach acid, the ants communicate where to find sustenance. Their antennae rub together, tenderly following the vibrations of the earth to their destination. There is no time to forgo care when you are an ant. There is no time to forgo care. There is no time. All that I can do, each day.
Thank you for reading the tenth installment of my poetry series. I hope it motivates you to keep trying, despite the oppressive powers at work that tell you to give up. Creating is a radical act in these times. If you can, donate, share relief funds, exchange information, keep bearing witness to the atrocities being committed around the world. If only the few are free, there is no freedom.