the bees don’t come back this year.
Spring is a girl and Summer is a woman
and we will turn our leek-colored eyes to her
and beg for chlorine, lemonade, strawberries.
With the hive no longer in the wall by our couch
we are able to open the window
and lay on the floor and wait for the power to come back on.
White jelly bean hail is sliding off the floor of heaven
into the front yard that is washing away with the parking lot and pine needles. Everything
is different now. My teeth hurt to remind me
to eat, and teal silk sheets and warm skin with an
accidentally grocery list are my favorite parts of going to sleep.
I am faced with leaving home again
and we watch our dreams at night fly above our heads. No more
candy hail now, just raining like the devil.