Of Bees and Summer
by Carol Hamilton

I know next to nothing
except of four years when
none came, but this year
the old apian friends
brought their friends,
of all races and sizes
and fields of competence.
We worked in happy harmony,
shared a green tunnel
of cucumber vines.
Big buzzy ones guarded
the circle of zinnias in the front yard,
but their attacks were all mock.
A neighbor grew up with bees,
said you can become friends
with them, let them land
and sit awhile on skin.
I am only an acquaintance,
and all I ask for is, not intimacy,
but just one miracle ...
the return of such migrants,
and I, not a hard taskmaster,
will work beside them, praising
all the while this alchemy
of golden goodness,
and how grace comes
when we have nearly given up.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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