After days of heavy rain, an ant hill blooms in the grass. Their underground channels submerged, the worker ants surface to scale the dune built on spiky green blades of Bermuda. Late afternoon they patrol the peak. Like copper flecks, the ants shine as I dot the hill with bait, sprinkle granules like sugar crystals […]
Sarah Banks
Sarah Banks is a nurse living in Mississippi. Her poetry appears in Rust + Moth, South Florida Poetry Journal, Willows Wept, Gyroscope Review, Thimble, Autumn Sky Poetry, and elsewhere. Her fiction has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and appears in Flash Fiction Magazine, Bright Flash Literary Review, and Fiction on the Web.
Loblolly Pine in August
Nudge of dawn, and they stir in half-light. Still air hangs heavy—not a bird, not a trill. Eager, the sun pulses under the skyline— flickering then flushing pink-gold before breaching the horizon, now bursting through, firing up orange to stash cumulus behind blue as the pines stake themselves into place—bark-cased statues carved out vertical, their […]