At the Onset of Hibernation, the Bees Begin to Speak

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She holds the honeycomb in her hands
weeps for the bees
their (mis)fortune pours
like watered honey from all her hollows.

……………To have your home torn from its moorings (joy)
……………talons at the foundation–
……………evolution’s sweet buzz
……………………..to begin again.

 

She sews papery wings to her shoulder blades
hovers beneath the eaves
awkward angel

………………….bleeding on the gardener’s bald head.
………..Who will rule the family now?

………………………..What value in a stinger dulled
………………………..by smoke–cobweb of ache sticky, invisible
………………………..the thin air it swings by ……….stinking of burn.

As the second hand sweeps
its apex—again, again—she rips
hives from rafters
gray ghosts…………..nursemaids bloated bellies
whole kingdoms without their queens.

She holds nothing in her hands
weeps for the beauty.

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After having written nothing for many days, I was inspired by this painting by Carrie Ann Baade. Let’s hope this is a trend in the right direction.

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3 responses »

  1. That art is inspiring, isn’t it? Breath-taking.

    Such beautiful language full of the stuff of honey-stealing. Love, love, love the smoky language.

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