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.