Telling the Bees
by Joan Leotta
Dear little creatures,
as I look out the window
today
I send these thoughts to
you—
may you be blessed on
this, his day.
I have no hive to shroud
in mourning cloth so
I pour honey on my toast,
libation to our
connection.
Take my love to him, my
sweet boy.
On the day he was born,
this day, 37 years ago, I
could not
taste honey—no food
allowed before the birth—
yet I tasted of his
sweetness when
I kissed his soft baby
cheek
as they placed him on me
newly taken from my womb.
Now he rests and I know
you visit
his place, tasting of the
clover
flowers sprouting up
among the green
where he was laid nigh 20
years ago.
Some people think that
grief has a timeline
ending, they want no talk
of tears, time when he
walked among the bees.
So, I greet you, dear
ones,
honey sweet as he,
dear to me,
take the touch of my lips
to him,
remind him that a
mother’s love
is forever.
* * * * *
Joan Leotta is a writer
and story performer whose poems have been published in a number of journals
including Writing in a Woman's voice, Ekphrastic Review, Silver Birch,
The Lake, and others. She often writes about her family, strong women, and
food. She is fascinated with bees and their importance to human life.
Stings, tears. This is beautiful.
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