TELLING THE BEES HIS NAME

By Angela Cheveau

whisper it amongst the sting of summer the path through

the trees shadow look hunched in the dark

the hive corkscrew hazel twisted leaf go careful

grasses hiss towards the low moan boots scuffed with

pollen dust and clover the throb and seethe

beneath latticed slats a shifting mass of bodies the

snip and click of mandible heat of the hive heavy

against my prickling skin my fingers across splintered

wood wet with scent of cypress hum of thronged amber in

the dark pressing my lips to timber say it the bustle of bodies

sentient to every breath say it his name bristling in my

throat spit it out taste of woodlice fermented yeast

something foul in my mouth say it this iron dark this

bleached moon oh listen you with your smoked glass wings

glimmer of thorax needling the dark my lips

against knotted pine say it bury it somewhere deep

in your halls because sometimes when I look into

the darkness I think the darkness stares back

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