Poem

Hopeful

It was as if she held a bee in her mouth,

as if only she knew what that buzzing was.

It was as if words had six black legs, wings, antennae,

as if thought hovered over each possibility.

It was as if she tasted what she’d waited so long to know,

as if the bee formed the first surprised syllable.

It was as if something tapped behind her teeth,

as if a music hummed itself in her throat.

It was as if she knew when to open her lips,

as if she knew when to stay completely still.

It was as if such things were entirely possible,

as if she could relish the sweet without sting.

cést moi.

First appeared: Syracuse Cultural Workers Women Artist’s Datebook 2007