–Toi DerricotteI love the way the black ants use their dead.They carry them off like warriors on their steelbacks. They spend hours struggling, lifting,dragging (it is not grisly as it would be for us,to carry them back to be eaten),so that every part will be of service. I think ofmy husband at his father’s grave—the grass had closedover the headstone, and the name had disappeared. He took outhis pocket knife and cut the grass away, he swept itwith his handkerchief to make it clear. “Is this the waywe’ll be forgotten?” And he bent down over the grave and wept.