Apiarist I did not know I was,
keeper of bees
honey-makers extraordinaire,
for in the door
one flew, forceful
and direct right toward
a student who didn’t
like its noise.
“Get out of here.” he swatted,
swished with his ruler;
“Take that And that.”
It buzzed about
ignoring his threats
and headed for the
back of the room.
“Settle down,” I said,
“relax. Wish the beastie
well.”
“It’s a bee. Where’ s the spray?”
“All we have to do is
wish it well, tell it
we would help, and
point direction
to the door.”
That was all,
a huge decree
given what we knew.
But this is what I said:
“Come here, over here,
this way to the door.”
to the bee, with what I
must admit a skeptic’s
voice.
“Over here.” as warmly
as I could.
Then, as it entered,
forceful and direct,
it flew to me,
nuzzled at my wrist
and darted out
the door, gone.
It left behind
a room
of open mouths,
and knowledge
as stupendous as it was
that humans can
communicate with bees.
September 30, 1997