The House of Ants

Melinda J. Irvine

8 years ago

I met a man today
on a wooden ferry boat
and between two islands

he told me a story. His
story, and of two boys once
seven and once nine

until their mother who died.
Unable to make a sound
(their torn faces, tears contained

yet completely silent)
the smallest boy fell completely
unconscious to his mother

and he (that man on the wooden ferry boat)
gathered those children, holding the little one
closest, before taking them home

away from an internment.

Years later, they would tell
their father (that man on the ferry boat) of someone else.
Cruel with drink.

Who would bind them
hands and feet to posts
and make them stand

in the house of ants.

Looking back through
our taxi window
my own adopted son

says suddenly “Mommy …
where is that man from the wooden ferry boat, who
helped carry our things?

I want to wave to him.
I liked that man.”
So did I.