Because a false spring comes earlier each year

a new poem

I pray the bees will not wake 
from winter’s sleep, pray 

I will not find one this morning 
with cellophane wings folded 

and bristled legs up.
But of course, I find one,

sleepy and confused
by this first false spring—

seventy two in February 
and not a single flower in bloom. 

It’s too early for violets
or even narcissus, yet here I am, 

basking like a rat snake 
with a belly full of bird eggs.

What else could I do, except 
fill a seashell with sugar water, 

make a mat from cypress
and lavender, leave the bee

to snooze in midday sun 
and hope it finds the strength

to crawl back into its tunnel?
In my heart, I know hope 

is no longer enough, 
and despite its hairy coat

this solitary bee
will not survive the cold.

Not the Eastern carpenter bee found yesterday, but a resident bee that hung out with me for a few minutes last summer.

---

Thank you for reading a small spectacle. For more poems about bees and other wild things that keep us company here on Earth, my book Every Note, a Lantern, is available for purchase from Kelsay Books and Amazon.

Also, I am happy to share that I am assembling a new collection of poems on place and perseverance. No press yet, as I will likely try my hand at self-publishing. Stay tuned for details.

Until then, take good care of one another.