Questions for Fruit Flies
Humble as fruit flies may seem, they . . . engage in a host of complex behaviors
using a tiny brain about the size of a poppy seed
John Ngai the Washington Post October 8 2024
Once we paused for lunch in an alpine
meadow by the trail, when a small band
of you arrived, outdoors, like us, this
perfect day, taking pleasure in our picnic.
You fluttered around us gentle as lovers,
flocked like rock fans, planets circling
a sun-ripe peach. Do fruit flies
remember? Do you love your lives
as much as I love mine? If I set a screen
over the cherry bowl, will you grieve?
What is the faith of a poppy seed?
Have you a god in your image?
How is it you vanish so swiftly when
the sweet is gone—and where do you go?
The Habit of Longing
On Sunday, we flee the house, its discontents
and jumbled hours, to stroll the mall
among lovers and joggers, children, bicycles
and dogs, a grandmother pushing the royal
pram. Outdoors among others, the habit
of longing returns and we know it has always
been with us just beyond reach
bunched like a scarf in the sleeve
of an unworn coat, for Sundays are one
continuous stream flowing tuneless and white
over years, and days are islands washed
away until only the current remains:
water and time and floating clouds,
the carousel, our circling grail with its caul
of music that cuts off suddenly
stranding us among astonished animals.
