Below the snow-pack, under the flat tangle
of matted grass, gently squirming beneath
the force-field of the frost line
live les vers de terre, their cryptic trails
umbilically twisting toward the winter crust.
I’d like to think that it’s summer Down Under,
Worms on holiday from noxious flocks
and the deadly tread of feet.
And when Spring, sensed like a womb-heard
heartbeat, melts the inhibitions and ignites
the slick ambitions of The Few, The Strong,
The Rebel-Worms, to take a slide on the wild side,
up, where the world is dry and frightful;
will I find their wriggling courage to say
to the flowers and the giants,
“Eat my dust!”?
Constance Kramer is a microbiologist by training, but explores the visible and invisible world with poetry and short fiction, also. She resides in Tallmadge, OH.
