Cone Home

I pluck a pine cone

from the floor of pines


and peek

at the tiny world


between the cone’s

teeth. I break apart


the layers,

snapping them


with the same satisfaction

as breaking up


a bar of chocolate,

piece by piece.


I’m swallowed whole,

taking up the heart


of an ant. The people

inside greet me


as one of their own,

feeding me



from the cone’s core.


I’d like to say

thanks and sorry


for the trouble;

doing so would reveal


I’m not one of them

at all, just a stranger


who walks in the woods

gathering pine cones.