"Ballad of Missing Bees"

by Erica Mazzeo

I never thought I would miss the bees

This year dormant,

they have not shown.

There is honey,

but it does not belong to them and

the buzz from radio lines is the only outside noise.

The queen of the bees, has left too -

Retreating from her hive,

reading up on how to be a doctor,

shoot a bow and

arrow,

or navigate the Nile.

So sick of

Sacrificing her life, for sweets and

the men who crowd

around her.

Even the honeycombs themselves,

a thousand hollowed gems and cylinders alike,

sound off chimes on an empty porch.

The people of Toledo have noticed

the missing bees -

another sign that death is ready and waiting

breathing his heavy breath behind each curtain or

veil.

I am reminded of my father

his time in the army, long gone.

Leaving the family farm to nurse soldiers and

keep appendages soft and

circulating in the mid solstice winds.

Writing love letters home for the

disabled veterans to

their wives -

reassuring their wait

by the snow window white.

And then one fine spring day

It was reported to my mother that

he suddenly went missing.

When there was no trace of him, in

seam or brush,

in my mind I knew

he'd

never be back.

I was seven years old then

and things would never be the same.

When the bees went missing, it was similar.

The petal that has collected pollen

cradles each yellow ball as it eagerly waits to feed.

But there are no bees this year and

my father never returned -

And somehow I am still waiting like the flower's pistil

Holding on to just some pictures -

Holding it all together.

And I fear that I will be waiting a long time

Like only a lily,

An early morning star

turned upwards towards the sky -

so white, and longing.