‘Each ant will one day be an Indra’

by Patricia Childerhouse

Each ant will one day be an Indra
thunderer whose chariot is the sun
who answers prayers with lightning
splits mountains to bring rain

for now I’ll live quietly behind these eyes
and watch the young
blind to what’s brewing

or I could become old woman of the sea
grip Sinbad with my wrinkled thighs
and twist his luscious hair in this gnarly fist
until he gets me drunk

when father blew the doors off
I didn’t wait to burn
I became water girl
turned and ran