To Build a Hill

Today, I pulled a small, grateful ant
off the back of my tongue.

I was shocked.
I stared at my palm,
I watched little red legs wriggle franticly,
Before I swiftly flung him into the grass.

Hours later, pressed hard against the wall of my shower,
I cried.

Most days, I am the ant.
To be atomic, in an astronomic world,
Is grueling.

Not often enough,
Do we build our own hill,
But wait to be pulled,
From off the back of a tongue.