Hive

I remember how you would get angry
when you thought I wasn’t listening

and demand to know what I was thinking.
The truth is:

I was watching your words turn
into bees, then tumble away like confetti.

When you were gone
I would fall to all fours

and chase them into a jam jar,
watch them squirm and writhe like tadpoles.

Through the spring I cared for them-
fed them chicken bones and the crusts from my sandwiches.

On the first day of summer I released them.
By the second day of summer I had been stung.

The lump grew hot and swollen-
two pounds of sugar, forced into a one pound bag.

Over time things cooled off and the swelling eased.
The honey left holes in my teeth.