Poetry Sunday: The Last Days of Summer Before the First Frost

The Last Days of Summer Before the First Frost


Here at the wolf’s throat, at the egress of the howl,
all along the avenue of deer-blink and salmon-kick
where the spider lets its microphone down
into the cave of the blackberry bush—earth echo,
absence of the human voice—wait here
with a bee on your wrist and a fly on your cheek,
the tiny sun and tiny eclipse.
It is time to be grateful for the breath
of what you could crush without thought,
a moth, a child’s love, your own life.
There might never be another chance.
How did you find me, the astonished mother says
to her four-year-old boy who’d disappeared
in the crowds at the music festival.
I followed my heart, he shrugs,
so matter-of-fact you might not see
behind his words
(o hover and feed, but not too long)

the bee trails turning to ice as they’re flown.

Poetry Sunday: First Thanksgiving

First Thanksgiving


When she comes back, from college, I will see
the skin of her upper arms, cool,
matte, glossy. She will hug me, my old
soupy chest against her breasts,
I will smell her hair! She will sleep in this apartment,
her sleep like an untamed, good object,
like a soul in a body. She came into my life the
second great arrival, after him, fresh
from the other world—which lay, from within him,
within me, Those nights, I fed her to sleep,
week after week, the moon rising,
and setting, and waxing—whirling, over the months,
in a slow blur, around our planet.
Now she doesn’t need love like that, she has
had it. She will walk in glowing, we will talk,
and then, when she’s fast asleep, I’ll exult
to have her in that room again,
behind that door! As a child, I caught
bees, by the wings, and held them, some seconds,
looked into their wild faces,
listened to them sing, then tossed them back
into the air—I remember the moment the
arc of my toss swerved, and they entered
the corrected curve of their departure.

Poetry Sunday: "Was you ever bit by a dead bee?"

“Was you ever bit by a dead bee?”


I was, I was—by its posthumous chomp,
that I was, by the posthumous chomp
of an expired wire, you’ll bellow out prompt
at the pitiless shiv when she does what she does.
Was you? I was. By its posthumous chomp,
by its bad dab of venom, its joy-buzzer buzz.




Poetry Sunday: A Song on the End of the World

A Song on the End of the World



On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.
Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world,
There will be no other end of the world.

Warsaw, 1944

Bee Love and Marketing

My new TwoHoneys Bee Co. business cards arrived yesterday, and I have to say that I’m delighted by them. The thermal printing makes the bee’s raised wings look as if they’re shimmering. I didn’t expect that…and I don’t think the printer did either. We were so happy to open the box and see all that shimmering going on.

So, to celebrate, I’ve created a new series of long-sleeve t-shirts over at Cafe Press (patience with the Cafe Press site. I set it up myself this morning and it still looks pretty rough. But it works). I’ll be adding more wonderful swag as TwoHoneys progresses, so if you have an idea for a t-shirt or other cool marketing brilliance, send it on to me (liz@two-honeys.com), and I’ll try to make it happen.

(I’ve asked Nicola to create a t-shirt for TwoHoneys, and she has enthusiastically agreed. Which thrills me. We will not rush her, though. Creativity needs space. Nicola says it also needs to learn Photoshop.)

As a teaser, though—just so you get a sense of what’s coming—here’s one of Nicola’s newest collages (to see more of Nicola’s work, visit her beautiful website.  Frankly, it’s worth the trip over there just to read the titles of her collages. Sometimes I go just for that):

Nicola Mason: Bees and Bloom