who practiced all year, only
to lose to a guy whose

every inch was covered
in hum. And I am in awe

to learn one cheeky bee
clambered into the winner’s

sugared ear, another
slid into his nostril, and still—

he didn’t flip. Just calmly
waited for the bell to ring

a victory. But even
fifty-seven pounds of bees

can’t stop the music I hear
when I return to you, the music

I hear when you walk near me.
Like I’m always carried in enough

good sting and thrum to remember
our life. I’ll always return home

to you—my honeycomb, my sweet—
my one faithful and true buzz.

Read more great poetry from Brooklyn Magazine here


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