"Honey" by Matthew Champagne

I have a beehive as my mind.

Those scuttling bugs become restless,

Breathless, when I feed them smoke

From bellows that are not my lungs.

My eyes, my thoughts

As pumps to funnel thick doubt,

Up past my throat-damper neck,

Past my smoke-chamber nose where bee wings,

Multitudinous, legion, crackle and singe me.

They will not flee when the smoke comes.

I am asked if honey is worth the sting

And I respond with a

“Hallelujah! Yes, it is!”

When the fever gets my blood.

And God has a spoon

That can hold oceans.

But that is only sometimes.

Other times, my throat is raw and black,

I do not lick soot from the hearth

And say it is sweet, nor do I

Blow on crawling embers

If my breath will not start a fire

When I feel the buzzing,

But instead I grab

The coals

And hold them to my brow as they hiss

Like bees, bees, bees

And I am the queen.