Bee Keep Her
by Cam M. Roberts
Upon your release, you raise bees.
You keep them, so to speak —
Pressing your ear against the white
Boxes, their droning reminds you
Of your immaculate prison,
And also the new one you are in
With homely carpets and curtains,
And modest couches and chairs,
With iron cookery and kettles,
And the tidy revelations found
In the bees — Now coupled
With two children screaming —
You release them, and swarm
With your empathy and reflection,
You, the worker and the Queen —
Where is your Honey?
You release yourself this time —
Again, in a much smaller cell,
Dark and womb-like,
You’ve prepared it well,
Like the tiny hole in the honeycomb.
Ubi sunt 