Dear Harold,
There’s this bumblebee
Floating around a prickly bush
By my front porch
Searching for flowers.
This bush has no flowers
But there used to be
A flowering chrysanthemum
Next to it
Before they dug up the dirt
To install the new sewer pipe.
I don’t know if bees remember
Or if they even live more than one season
(I’ll Google that later)
But it makes me wonder if this bee
Remembers the flowers
If it burrowed into the ground
Last winter
To hibernate and dream
Of familiar sweet smells and nectar
And woke to find
Only mud and unyielding rocks
Old pieces of brick and broken glass shards
That also used to live in the dirt.
I hope this little bee
Goes on
Buzzing and flying
Finds my roses
Or the sweet lilacs out back
Or a nice fat tulip
To curl up into
And forgets what wasn’t there
Rejoicing in what is true and real
What it needs to go on.
Love,
Julie
by Julie Blue 