in summer when the corpses buried
in the fields are thirsty
father boils water in the old metal cauldron
& once the water is scalding

he pours the hot water in the ant nests
the ants curl like babies
at the touch of the scorching water

they lay forgotten on the dry dirt
under the lime tree
until the crows come
to swallow them up

the burnt ants reek
like a bitter brew of coconuts
flowers & green limes

this acidic stench lingers
in our house for days
until father buries
my brothers under the lime tree