My Ex-Father Eats a Live Honeybee 

A tiny spark has singed a single hair on your arm.
-- Schmidt Sting Pain Index


We used to run so fast downhill
we knew how satellites thrill
reentering gravity.

When we stomped bees in clover
we learned a stylus's hot pierce,
her body's last shudder.

But when you stood in front of the sun
like a blackspot and dropped a live bee
on your tongue, could you taste nectar
smeared on her needle feet?
Did your glacial teeth
crunch her downy abdomen?

Is it true her wax paper wings tickled your throat
and she tasted like smoked honey?

-- Renée Alberts


Renée Alberts lives on Mount Washington and organizes numerous poetry and music events, including the Carnegie Library Sunday Poetry & Reading Series. Her poetry collection No Water was published in 2009 by Speed and Briscoe Books, and she posts writing, photography, sound and collage on her site www.animalprayer.com


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