tw // getting stung by bees and killing them // nothing that graphic

 

I shout FUUUCK at the exact moment

The neighborhood turns silent.

I convalesce for six hours

Thinking, I know there’s still a risk

When disposing that nest beneath the mulch,

The size of the entrance to their den tinier than a nickel,

Worth more than the aphids and grubs

They destroyed all summer long.

We destroyed the hornets in turn, a holy cycle.

My chives continue to thrive

Even as the wettest spring morphs

Into driest summer.

I remember reading a book as a kid:

One character provoked a nest of yellow jackets

With a stick, with his foot, something like that.

A swarm swirled around him like a tornado,

The aftermath illustrated – a fully bandaged child

Lying on the bed with only mouth and nose visible.

​

He had it coming. He did.

​

An exterminator assured me whatever was used to kill

The insects would not hurt my herbs.

I rinsed the ever-living hell out of them.

The leaves, each vein, each stem. I never see the fallout,

The corpses bundled beneath the ground, dry as dust

For the next few weeks.

I cover the quarry-like hole where the home once was,

Where life vibrated within such a finite space,

What felt like the most perfect protection.

​

You’d sting anyone, wouldn’t you?

Jab at whatever came to ruin your life,

Those you loved?