I was catching rain that day

While waiting for my container
to get full, I spied a
struggling red ant on the
low flood below me.
I scooped it,
I saved its life.
Watching it closely as
it traced the back of my hand
perhaps looking for that
pink route that signifies
its treasure map.
I noticed its color —
clarified by the wash-off,
magnified by the distance.
I picked it, squished it, rolled it
on my fingers,
hoping for that better ending
to this poem that didn’t come.
I was never friends with their kind.
I could’ve said
this little red ant
“felt threatened by its saviour”.
But no!
This little red ant
remained grateful
through and through,
even with its missing leg.
And so, I let it fall
to the ground
(helping it with a puff of breath),
else
I’d take
the very life
I’ve saved.

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