Ant Farm
i.
anatomical slice
through the heart
of a house
egg-busy dark
huge porcelain babies
carried aloft
awkward as furniture
ii.
ropes above our heads link the nest
to a tank of plants — the ants march to
and fro along them holding green banners
iii.
we are islands off
the antway, don’t
deviate, don’t fall
into the water, don’t
forget the burning
kiss of family
the formic scent
of home
Emergency
A line of white, unmarked cars
turns down our street.
Each contains a human
form, wrapped in cloth.
Sweet grubs,
swaddled, peaceful —
we can’t tell
if they’re leaving,
arriving, getting born
or dying. It’s all the same
to us. Our house
has no doors
or window panes
but it’s warm and full
of light —
straw on the floor,
a fire in the grate.
We rearrange our cupboards,
tend the snowy creak of freezers.
The sirens are always
in our ears — they sound
like ice cream vans
in minor keys.
________________
Charlotte Eichler is a poet based in West Yorkshire, UK. Her work has recently appeared in
Carcanet's New Poetries VIII, as well as magazines including The Manchester Review, PN Review and The Rialto . Her first collection, Swimming Between Islands, will be published by Carcanet in February 2023.