Her brittle old tortoise shell prescriptions Blur a head of softly graying curls He needs a cut, she whispers, always to herself. Anyone in or not in the grocery store line that afternoon. Recognizing Cantaloupe, honeydew, whole milk Lettuce heads and newly sprouted wheat, and Baby spinach asleep in the sway of her basket. A […]Read more
Paratroopers empty one by one
Dropping from the hive
Now growl as one great
Carpet to cover the windows
Door handles and locks.
A bee moat.
Slowly dripping outside busy windows
Only two minutes, like eggs timed, yet
She’s done cooking. With eyelashes, false
Newly bred widows sit with spidery eyes,
Single fingers silently making reservations for twos.
They reapply the glue, so unkind, that humidity.