After I'd eaten breakfast, I went outside. It was cool, the sun earnest but dew still dampening the grass. At the top of the driveway, where no tree shadowed me, I sat down, warming the backs of my legs on the concrete. I rolled my palms around on the rough surface, and watched the fat black ants march by, waving their tiny antennae. As the air warmed I wandered to the garage's corner, petted the plump downy leaves of some unnamed weed, careful of each leaf's sharp, spiny tips. When did I forget how to simply be in the world?
Mary Ann Honaker is the author of Becoming Persephone (Third Lung Press, 2019). She lives in Beaver, West Virginia. Find Mary Ann at maryannhonaker.wordpress.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @MaryAnnHonaker1.