This dream-like poem was inspired by the story of Saint Abigail.
Hope you enjoy.
From her cracked skull, honey;
the bees flee the workhouse,
burrow themselves into the mistress’ shawl
and hang a basket from their collective arm.
A coachman waits to take them away,
and they glide under the guise of an all-human being.
Where to? he asks, and the horses are whipped,
tears blinked back by a dozen long lashes.
In the city the bees walk free,
with shrouded face of flesh in motion, of a thousand wings;
but their sound still haunts them;
the sound of what they used to be.