August 2021
Bio Note: I grew up on a small farm in Michigan. I now live in California and have come to love the desert while still missing lots of rain and green. I've been published in a number of journals and am an editor of poetry for Inlandia: a Literary Journey.
Home Again
I’m in Michigan. Mother
is alive, and giant bees have
migrated far north. The radio
warns of massive swarms
and fatal stings, but tells us nothing
about defenses against them.
“All right,” I say to Mother, “if
they start to get inside, you call
me. I’ll find a way to stop
them.” She wouldn’t think to
beat them back or run.
A few bees cling to the window
panes. They are the size
of scorpions. Mother points.
“Look at those beautiful
colors—rainbow wings.”
The fields have crowded up
to the house. A meadow lark
sings and we pause
to listen. Night
advances steadily.
The truth is, she must
stay, and I must continue
to go. This is her home, not
mine any more, this mess
with its torn screens,
its ill-fitting doors, its
terrible openness.
©2021 Lavina Blossom
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