Beetrail We had to get along when we were young the bee and me, us against the keepers. I wore protective coloration; she hummed regardless of who could hear; even sleepers dreamt of honey. Pajama bumble beads and amber leotards she stored in combs. At dusk we climbed or flew from roof to trees and drank the yellow lights from real homes. Her sign was air, of course, a bee, but I’m water on the cusp of earthenware, no element that can take flight, no migratory impulse, ooze not meant for air. I always saw the bee golden in the light she recollected. My camouflage felt right.
EK is the author of 8 books of poetry, and a memoir about her dad (The Shape of Dad). Her latest book is Art Speaks with painter Mary Hatch. She likes prose poems but also reveres a well-tuned and witty verse.