Photo by Jeremy Bezanger on Unsplash

Antlions

Thank you daughter for not giving birth to another malevolent soul.
I made you from termite sand and water to light a flame in darkness, brought down from the mountains where the dead rest protected
by brush and snake. Antlions waiting patiently draw circles in the sand. Silently I put my forefinger in their soil traps, to deafen you, as they called us back one by one to store in darkness. Through the savannah you wander stumbling blind and erratic trying to cut a path. Your heavy tread and swinging blade an organic timepiece. We are unwilling to hear them speak but we still want to know, do they call for us all or just for you?