by Max Gilman '25 on December 8, 2022
Portfolio Co-Editor
Poetry
“Death to the sky!”
Cried ants being beaten out by human heels.
Each morning the crows wake me
With cackling cries. I think
At least fifty flock to my room.
Spirals without direction,
Drawn in the earth,
Drawn from the ant’s mind,
Aimless spirals, because what the hell
Were we ever following?
Ants and crows don’t speak
Like humans do.
Humans and humans don’t know each other
Like crows and ants do.
I know the crows are in my head
But they still rip me
From my bed
I wish to cry with ants tonight,
I wish I knew their burden,
I wish they knew mine.