"Honey" by Matthew Champagne
I have a beehive as my mind.
Those scuttling bugs become restless,
Breathless, when I feed them smoke
From bellows that are not my lungs.
My eyes, my thoughts
As pumps to funnel thick doubt,
Up past my throat-damper neck,
Past my smoke-chamber nose where bee wings,
Multitudinous, legion, crackle and singe me.
They will not flee when the smoke comes.
I am asked if honey is worth the sting
And I respond with a
“Hallelujah! Yes, it is!”
When the fever gets my blood.
And God has a spoon
That can hold oceans.
But that is only sometimes.
Other times, my throat is raw and black,
I do not lick soot from the hearth
And say it is sweet, nor do I
Blow on crawling embers
If my breath will not start a fire
When I feel the buzzing,
But instead I grab
And hold them to my brow as they hiss
Like bees, bees, bees
And I am the queen.