by CHARISSE GENDRON
The large black ant floats in the cat’s bowl,
dog-paddling madly. When emptied into the sink
he struggles to lift his helmed head, black prince,
cleft from steed, disarmed, unable to roll
to his knees. On the floor of this cruel steel rink,
far from the hill, he will confront his fate.
In the morning, sleek as jet he still attempts
the slick sides. What heart! But after each running start
he slides back down, until, swathed in a tissue
—or are those angels’ wings?—he lands in grass.
Is it a lawn or else Elysium?
–
Charisse Gendron is a poet living in Portland, Maine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Anomaly Poetry, Blood & Bourbon, Empyrean, Feral, IProsetrics, Sabr Tooth Tiger, The RavensPerch, The Soliloquist, Trashlight, and other publications. She holds a doctorate in English from the University of Connecticut. She volunteers at the Mechanics’ Hall library in Portland and teaches at Coastal Senior College in Newcastle, Maine.
© Charisse Gendron
Halfway Down the Stairs 