The insects are beginning to wake up
a bee-guard will be an absolute necessity:
Spinster’s Ink on the toaster. Mother’s headed for her final sleep.
Consult the magnetic words on our toaster:
says the wall
echoes the tunnel.
We go to the village for bee-guard
Dark circumstances driven out, then back home.
We are alone: two women.
we wake
barnstorming   brainstorming.
We fishnet for gold grains:    What a luminous memory:
swimming with your child
during a thunder & lightning storm in high desert.
        And now we are old:
Mother is sinking, fearful as a hive filled with bees
And you and I feel
orphaned at the white pale:
like nobody’s child.

Lynn Strongin

If you've any comment on this poem, Lynn Strongin would be pleased to hear from you.