Me As A Beekeeper

Me as a Bee Keeper

 By Adam Messinger


Fresh sunlight cuts through the fog,

a smothering blanket floating through

the bee yard with its many rows of smog

clogged tomb stone boxes, living with dew.


On the right-- my posture, eyes, beginning to tire,

the house with the blue lid first (it reminds him of himself)

He's controlled, ready, careful to play with fire

and he’s only pulling out the frame,  like a book on a shelf.


His alien hand is cloaked in rubbery armor

sparing him the bitter stings: a burst, a cut.

I forget I’m too cloaked in mesh- safe from horror

He’s so present but far

Truly their God, maybe mom?

The wooden frame:  a snapshot of bee life

Under the fresh morning it’s exposed

Glittery honeycomb is truly a dizzying sight to me

I’m almost uncomfortable

Shivers wearing yellow and black turtlenecks creep

up and down my neck. Is he okay?

The buzzing is lodged in my nose

YET he’s still so still

I can’t see through my netting and my mother

has arthritis- my knuckles crunch, and inside

my armor is a fog—or a steam? Drip.


He scrapes the caked yellow crust.

truly this honey is a must.