An unknown force rode into the hives on the wind. Maybe it was barometric pressure, maybe a measurable drop in heat, but after many hot nights of bees out much of the night sipping on mint juleps and standing on the porch, the party is over.
Bodies are strewn on the ground.
I coaxed two bees onto a piece of comb I found on the ground. Each tried to sip the honey, but couldn't. They were drones. Hungry. Men. Exiled. Helpless.
Romeo knew what the bees know. Exile is worse. They starve after being kicked out. Some girls team up to fly high and drop the wounded drone in a place he can't return.
The bodies pile up. It is carnage.
And yet, the massacre of the drones signales a queenright hive preparing for winter. She has spoken.
Only the contributors can stay.
The bodies have been piled
the fire, stocked.
Let the ashes be ashes.
Let the dust--
Tomorrow we will suck nectar from the lips
Tomorrow we will gather pollen to our hips
In winter we will come together as sisters
In sisters we will come together for winter
Let the ashes be ashes
Let the dust be.
No comments:
Post a Comment