I bought a bumblebee from a witch,
Eat
him mid-winter, she said. But I’ve kept him to look
at
and he turned into springtime.
Bees hunker, bees wiggle soft-stinger
bottoms from side to side
to dance, to engrave the tiniest
love-notes on flower petals.
I bought a bumblebee from a witch:
he looked so little, wet wings pressed
down to the velvet.
I thought there were no bees left in
the world
and he turned into springtime.
His black stripes are crushed-up
vanilla beans.
How will we describe the taste of honey when there are no
more bees?
I bought a bumblebee from a witch
and I woke up buried in wildflower petals.
I woke up on fire, and he turned on the
rains, I mean he rained
and he turned into springtime.
The trees used to be filled with soft
golden bees.
People used netted hats and the word swarm.
I bought a bumblebee from a witch
and he turned into springtime.