Ants

Give me one last dance, 

with the versions of myself,

the ones I left behind,

scattered 

like a trail of crumbs,

so I can find my way out  

from the crevices

where I shrunk 

to make myself fit,

and go back,

to the metropolis, and

the mountain ranges 

that stretched my bones,

popping and grinding,

forcing me to grow —

my jaw is still small,

but I still bite.

If I am an ant,

and my life is a bread box — 

then everywhere is my home,

and I am everywhere.