after “Whoever She Was” by Carol Ann Duffy
They see me as only a mythical creature
on city art. Not alive. My jaws,
still new, chew through the cap. I smell the wax
mingling with lemony pheromones.
Bee, say the giant voices of the keepers
of the round helmets. Bee.
A grist of insects, suck nectar
or pollinating crops for food. The buzz
of tiny wings repeatedly. I do not mind.
Perhaps someday. If you’re very lucky.
The cycle repeats. The comb is
crushed and strained of honey. When you
think of me, I’m an orchestral interlude
played on violin. Bustle of music. Listeners’ delight.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
A bit of zizz hangs on the petals. My scientific name
sounds wrong. This was the garden.
There are the coneflowers. Packing sweetness
Into hexagonal cells. For when they come.
Whoever it was, forever their veiled eyes watch it
as it journeys from snapdragons to primrose.
It cannot be my kind and still I have a jar
of light amber honey to prove that it was here.
You remember the precious things. Sunny days
or finding your way home. One bee doesn’t matter.
You fix your dead apian eyes on the drone
which is spraying insecticide on your field.
A native of Pennsylvania, Lara Dolphin is an attorney, nurse, wife, and mother of four. Her chapbooks include In Search Of The Wondrous Whole (Alien Buddha Press), Chronicle Of Lost Moments (Dancing Girl Press), and At Last a Valley (Blue Jade Press).