My Brother's Garage

My Brother’s Garage

Carpenter ants was his guess, citing 

the tell-tale pile of sawdust beneath 

the siding. I came over with a pry bar

and we tapped the wall, saw more fall 

with every shake. This would take, 

we knew then, a more invasive tact. Prying back

a 1x4 we saw more shavings than we thought

possible, but still no ants, so another 

and another, sawdust pouring out 

of each opening like a pent-up confession

till our feet and the floor were covered 

in carnage. Only later did we uncover

someone had used the stuff to stuff the garage,

a kind of cheap insulation. It was—

like so many griefs—an odd revelation, 

part relief that nothing was actively eating 

the house, part confusion on what best to do 

now, our spray bottle of solution 

sitting useless as we sweltered in shavings.