On Reading: Four Small Bees Found Living in a Woman’s Eye
He could see in her eyes she'd been sweeping graves. Memory and duty – incense and a yarrow-stalk broom worrying away leaves and dirt. Unearthed, bees flew to her sweat, her sorrow. They knew no pollen could yield such honey – love, so smoked with grief that it was holy. Ancestral manna to feed her, and keep watch.
First published Sept 2020 in the I-70 Review
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who knew such a nasty attack could yield such interesting imagery
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“love, so smoked with grief” oh my, I just love that, and your final couplet. Great stuff, my friend!
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I just love this. All of it.
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Worrying away leaves, I like that!
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Timeless. The enjambment still astounds. So glad this was published – it deserves to be seen and read again and again.
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Thank you. And thank you for your help with said enjambment!!
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…um… you’re memory is better than mine.
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INCREDIBLE piece. What a touching tribute.
“bees flew
to her sweat, her sorrow”
This is a true goddess — the unseen, underappreciated, hurting worker. You are right and good to honor her.
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If Cormac McCarthy had heard of the news article he would have flown to it like a bee to sweat and tears. The mingling of the horror and the honey: it attracted you too, perhaps for the same reason as it compels the readers of your poem — “They knew no pollen/could yield such honey”: truth about duty, past love, memory, grief, intrusions we live with daily. (Thanks for recommending this piece, Randall. I’m not going to forget it anytime soon, I guarantee! FOUR. Did they say four???!!!
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I love your reading of this. Yes, four. I must have been like those bees, drawn to this as you say.
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excellent! i have to stop here for now, i’ve got a lot of catching up to do… i’ll be back
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