Monday, April 19, 2021

Bees

 


It's not the honey; it's the dimness
Or maybe my taste in home accoutrement,
My desire to put a bandage
over a scar that is being carved
by my other hand.
Either way, the bees come home
to the weave, sometimes brushing a wrist
or using all six legs 
to rub my shoulders;
They could teach me a dance--
the entrance to fairyland
is a hot shimmer
in a field of  blank green.
They want me to dance
into their feast like a queen
whose wings have long 
been abandoned.


This last fillip of winter has put the bees mostly on hold for now -- it hasn't stopped the wasps poking around the bird-dispensing patio cover and seeing how low they can drift before we start to move. Wasp chicken is a Texas summer activity. This week is theoretically Shot Week...which I'm not going to think about right now or in the context of wasps and bees. bzzzzzzzz....

-- Chrissa

1 comment:

  1. The bees know what we do not I suppose. Love this Chrissa and the last line of shimmer, blank green and abandoned wings really resonates. I hope all goes well this week with shots and all. One step closer to the newer normal we will come to know.

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