Issue > Poetry
The Bees
Did I say I was going to do something and not do it?
That is the way the whole day has gone.
The bees were swarming, and their frank deliberations
sounded like a movie about World War Two.
They have forgiven us that but are not sure
about what is going on now. Myself,
I am just trying not to sink into the earth
no matter how good that might sound. It is
hard enough to hold body and soul together, said my
mother, without worrying about the bees. Except she never
said the part about the bees, just about how hard it all is. Oh,
I understand, I say to her, although she has been dead for fifteen years,
but I am not sure we have that luxury anymore.
She gives me that look that says what would you know,
and I say, well, I have fifteen years on you now. She laughs at that one.
She says I'm glad I'm not around, it is easier, really. Right,
I remember, that was it, the compost.