I
write in my office where I really do have a western facing window that gets
super sunny this time of year. I interact with my curtains every single day.
And
I interact with my boy every day also. He has days where everything is on
repeat and today was like that. Today he kept asking me, “Mama, what is a
honeycomb?” and “Did you know that a worker bee can go inside a honeycomb?” He
couldn’t explain to me tonight why it was all about bees for a couple of hours
today. Then later the subject finally turned to dinosaurs and then evolution
and then creation and then we ended up somewhere in Siberia. And this was in
the course of about an hour and a half. Hence tonight’s poems.
Sunshine Yellow
A
yellow curtain
Hung
to block out
The
brightest sun
Each
day I unfold it
Spreading
it wide
To
catch the rays
Those
flood my window
Early
as the sun
Rises
over the trees
And
stun my sleepy eyes
Like
Mom shaking me
When
I pull the covers
Over
my head
I
hide
The
curtain closed
I
feel like no one
Can
find me
Like
I’ve won
Hide
and seek
In
my cave so dim
Nothing
on but
My
computer screen
Blank
waiting for warmth
From
words to flow
And
spread like light
Breaking
the dark night
To
bring on the day
Thought Building Honeycombs
Did
you know?
Is
the start to nearly every sentence
The
light tone with a serious
Pull
of wanting to know if I really do know
Or
do I pretend to listen?
He
repeats, one, two, three, four, five, six,
I
loose count in the never ending cycle
It
all whizzes by me in a buzz, buzz, buzz,
The
lecture loosening his every thought
That
tumbles like one pebble
That
brings down an avalanche
Till
I am buried under all the thoughts
Weighing
us both down
He
can float from subject to subject
Like
a bee looking for that right flower
To
land on
Yet
when he does land
He
can stay there
Until
there isn’t one drop of nectar left
The
flower has given its very life force
To
be a part of his honey
And
he flies back to store it
All
his words are now at a full stop
I
wake from my stupor
To
fill-in the pause
It
is too late
The
silent worker bee
Is
depositing his secret stash
In
twisting chambers
Only
he can fit into
Only
he knows the path
I
wait for another question
It
is a long time coming
When
he’s ready he flies
Out
again on the hunt
For
that perfect flower
Telling
me when he’s found it
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