Anthills

Eyes damper than before I hate EGOS. 
More THAN People 
More THAN Cars 
I hate people 
like how an ant hill does 
that’s at the bottom of the stairs 
I hate silver ears
quick to listen but never want to hear
never want to here
I MUST SPEAK SO LOUDLY TO YOU 
I mustn’t burden your thoughts any longer
I mustn’t hesitate to ask for space
because honestly it’s killing me 
backing me up in balance
where I can’t stand to fall 
placing deep deep trenches
inside of me 
I HAVE NEVER BEEN WHOLE 
Never stop to glorify
my art and assets 
I’ll hold my tongue in place 
a hole in my Pace
my words rotting my breath
biting my lips in the face of adversity
I am that anthill. 
Deeply woven and dug into ground
without even a shovel or spade
I wish I had more GRIT 
more GRIT to say I’m tired 
of being 
an ant hill 
under your boot
anticipating the thunder between each step before
I feel your soles coming to crush my foundation 
more GRIT to say
I may be small 
but damn I want a house
a condo a mansion 
one my tiny body can ache 
after reaching the top of the staircase 
I want a house that says home on the outside
and smells like one on the inside. 
I want to be a person. 
Treated, looked at, and cared for 
LIKE ONE WOULD A PERSON.
cared for like when you don’t step on that…. 
It took years for your mother to leave the abuse 
EGOS weighing down on your mother’s spine
her calcium tilting her crown
she only looks up at her king
it’ll break your mama’s back the way she cares for you like that. 
Through her eyes;
This Anthill Is Best She’s Got! 
And no matter how many soles break the foundation 
she’s rebuilt this anthill for you. 
So you can one day be 
the corporal ant in charge
conducting the search for Life, 
the meaning of curiosity. 
Be that corporal ant in the cupboard
leading the way along. 
All along your mother trying to 
piece together her anthill
in the back of the line. 
I am that anthill smooshed and spread so thin. 
striving to be that mansion
to be the best and biggest version of myself
the version of myself that has grit
my Foundation has never been solid
it is a fact I’ve come to accept. 
My anthill blooms between the crevices
of the east side
slightly tilted from childhood 
My anthill was always dug up, 
pranced apun,
fried, 
drowned, 
leaked, 
stomped, choked, 
before I had the awareness 
The sun beamin’ on my skin 
slowly adding September to my width and my anthill 
My thoughts, creations, and vibrations, 
carrying little pieces of earth 
to the surface to birth me. 
A sliver of sunlight touches my pupil everytime
A piece of thought flows
in and out 
I am burying so deep but it’s never deep enough 
I can barely scratch the surface 
before I get close to my mother
Swallow me up again 
maybe 
if I dig deep enough My Foundation 
will not only be My Sanctuary
maybe
I could hear mother’s gentle song 
while I drift into sleep and play

Copyright © 2024 by Kayla “AluTru” Steward. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 29, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.

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“‘Anthills’ [is a] retrospective personification poem. The anthill represents many things: stability, confidence, foundation. The way both the beginning of the poem and the end talk about anthills starts to shift. Now [an] anthill is a different frame of mind.”
—Kayla “AluTru” Steward