All through the garden
the hum of the buzzing
holds the space,
keeps a little distance,
bids me take care
And though I can’t enter
the temple of bumblebees,
I can bear witness
to the golden celebration,
each member replete
with their bright offering –
sun, flower, bee.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 29, 2023
When I breathe deep, I smell bees,
and suddenly the scent of everything
is opened to me – how the June air at evening
is rich with blossoms and resin, ripe grass
and some distant spice,
and inside the ag building,
sawdust and pencil lead,
various minerals
We work until after dark,
though darkness doesn’t come till 10,
we savor the sky, and the satisfaction
of work done.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 24, 2023
Though I am happy
that the bees are happy,
happy
that I did no harm,
I still feel the longing
to have them close at hand again
I had them in my hands,
I had their sweet scent
wafting inside of me,
I had no understanding
but tried to act as if I did
and so I lost them
I certainly perceive that I’m no expert,
but maybe I have learned
just a little bit more
about feeling, and listening,
and not trying to be the boss.
About letting them bee.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 27, 2023
Life doesn’t end. Stories do,
and so their endings can be happy,
tied up at their full circle, a flouncy bow
showing
all these arcs had meaning –
that which drew us forth
intended that we find
what we are seeking
Life is always starting up the next thing.
Stories satisfy because they give us
endings we can rest in
And so you know – I learned
I didn’t kill those bees –
just sent them home
to the neighbors’ waiting hive,
where they seem happy.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 24, 2023
At the failed hive
I see these bees like dreams,
small thoughts, their busy purpose
forgotten with the queen’s loss,
what remains of their being
clinging to each other in last companionship
as they drift off into whatever consciousness
greets them on waking.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2023
Not an emotion, this sorrow
is structural, comb drawn out
in my heart, white etchings
a bare start, arrested
before they could take form,
long before they could hold anything
These hopes, like queenless bees,
huddle in small patches
as the memory of why and where
disperses
But a stronger structure,
as yet unnamed, is taking form –
I wait to see what it will support,
what it may contain.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 21, 2023