Driver Ants
The night we arrive in Uganda, my mother wakes to the sound of rain, not a storm, but a steady slap of drops against pane. She rolls over, her body weary from the plane and the children and the jetlag. Although we are at the top of a hill, windows flung open to catch a...
Using the Fate of Insects as Lineage
My father said honey ran down the wall in his boyhood home. It came around the metal plate covering the kitchen hole where the winter’s bellied stove attached to the chimney. He told me how when the air was cool and instinct inactive, he and my grandfather hunted with sure sticks and burlap bags. From their...
Trespassers
Centipedes crept out of the drains of our old house at night. They materialized suddenly, high on the white walls, reddish and hairy, terrible. The sight of their countless filament legs made my nose and ears itch, and my skin crackle. It was awful to rise in the morning and see one quivering near the...
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