From The Mouths Of The Bees

She has honeycomb body, like
sweetness and
effort gone into making her whole.
The bees live there
in the rustle beneath her skin
but
they do not want to die
and she does not want to destroy
all their hard work
so neither falls:
nectar is harvested, a trophy of
time looks
sweet to taste,
looks like “see how long i have survived?”

Their potential to sting
does not scare her, anymore.

They are no longer afraid
of her great, open mouth
or the way she cries when she
is alone; like the tree is falling.
Like the ground has opened up
only she is the ground
and everything is split in half.

Her palms stick with the dew
of candied labors,
with the early morning sunlight
caught between her fingers,

and she is warned.

Sometimes, the bees tell her,
things that are sweet like this
attract the worst kind of hungry.

Sometimes, our fingers get stuck
when we do not mean
for them to

By Emma Bleker

Biography:

Emma Bleker is a 20 year old writer working for her English degree while attempting to live a true and convincing life. She has been published, or is forthcoming, in Electric Cereal, Cahoodaloodaling, Persephone’s Daughters, Skylark Review, and Yellow Chair Review. Additionally, she released her first collection of poetry, Here’s Hoping You Never See This, in November of 2015.