by Treehouse Editors
The grasshopper needs a home but
Not an afterlife. It is content
It drowns in the rain, falls under the boot of a man
Under the claws of a cat, possum, bird
It becomes dirt.
It did such a good job being a grasshopper
Perhaps it will become a worm
Then an atom
A.C. Bohleber is a recent college graduate located in Louisville, Kentucky. Originally from the South, she attended the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga where she won the Ken Smith Fiction Award. She now works a day job, so she can spend money on books, travel, and, of course, rent. In the chaos she makes time to write prose and occasionally poetry.