Poetry

Bee Envy

Such tenderness among the shadows

cast by leaf and branch.

At summer’s end, the bees burrow

ever more deeply into the cyclone

of red, velvet petals.

Fortunate creatures, equipped with proboscis

and stinger to achieve their singular goal.

Theirs was never the purpose

to unburden themselves of time.

Soon, I’ll find their translucent wings

strewn casually along the garden path—

small windows into the stones

and the damp earth, below.

Laura Ann Reed