Ant Hills in the City

When I was younger, a friend of mine told me,
“If you draw a circle of chalk around an ant, it will lose its way.”
For hours, her and I, with scraped knees and sticky, sugary lips
drew circles around unsuspecting ants mercilessly.

We upped the ante and used a magnifying glass:
with the sunshine, we created torture chambers.
Chalk pens turned into prison cells, we offed them, one by one.
Humans are monstrous without the slightest clue,

and I often find myself backed up against a wall.
Your eyes are constantly looking into me for a treasure
that I have yet to figure out myself – a strength you desire.
Tracing circles around the features of my face,

trapping me into the small categories of descriptions you choose,
I feel your prying eyes on me and desire the feeling of being lost.
I yearn to go home, to smell the familiar kitchen smells,
and touch the small knickknacks on the mantel piece.

You found me by pure accident, lost in the maze of concrete,
carrying a third of my weight on the curve of my back,
and you heard from your friends tricks about women:
give them a little sugar, and they’ll drape themselves over you,

and they’ll forget where they were even headed.
Well, my lips are stuck together, glued even, as you speak,
and I remember how my mother said too many sweets
will rot my teeth out,and I feel them coming loose in my mouth

as you press your lips against mine without hesitation,
without any inclination that I had somewhere to go,
or perhaps had somewhere to be. I’m running in circles,
losing my way from here to there, and I’m afraid you’re watching,

keeping me private but still in your public eye; a childhood secret.
how many times do I have to feel the burn of your kiss
before I’ve had enough? And how many times does a girl
have to crack her glass sugar cell in order to return back home?