"The Bee" by Julie Epp
Mk Smith Despres | Another Reason Not to Shave Your Legs
Because when you finally walk the field
again, the one you walk all fall, all winter, all
spring right down to the river thick-throated
with rain and the vernal pool echoing with
season upon season of wood song, of glassine
wings, the one you waited and waited to walk
again because the farmer, like everyone else,
has two jobs and missed the first cutting completely
and because, of course, all that rain, and then
you went away to see the ocean and when you
come back, the hay is finally cut, round bales
splayed, a wicker stonehenge game of marbles,
but the days drip hot with summer now so instead
you bring the little one to swim at the lake and dinner
and washing up and everything happens after and
after and suddenly it’s dark, but this evening is
still light, breezy even, so you and the dog slip into
the field and you know right away you have waited
too long but it will be another two months at least so
you keep going, dry grass and seed heads crunch and rustle
and the dog finds tufts of fur, a fox jaw, but the path
to the river has only been cut by deer, you can’t
even get close enough to hear it so instead you walk
with the surety of water in your bones going going
skirting the treeline, then doubling back into the sinking
light, you see your legs, golden clover chaff clinging
to the long soft hairs like pollen to a bee. A bee!
How wonderful is that?
again, the one you walk all fall, all winter, all
spring right down to the river thick-throated
with rain and the vernal pool echoing with
season upon season of wood song, of glassine
wings, the one you waited and waited to walk
again because the farmer, like everyone else,
has two jobs and missed the first cutting completely
and because, of course, all that rain, and then
you went away to see the ocean and when you
come back, the hay is finally cut, round bales
splayed, a wicker stonehenge game of marbles,
but the days drip hot with summer now so instead
you bring the little one to swim at the lake and dinner
and washing up and everything happens after and
after and suddenly it’s dark, but this evening is
still light, breezy even, so you and the dog slip into
the field and you know right away you have waited
too long but it will be another two months at least so
you keep going, dry grass and seed heads crunch and rustle
and the dog finds tufts of fur, a fox jaw, but the path
to the river has only been cut by deer, you can’t
even get close enough to hear it so instead you walk
with the surety of water in your bones going going
skirting the treeline, then doubling back into the sinking
light, you see your legs, golden clover chaff clinging
to the long soft hairs like pollen to a bee. A bee!
How wonderful is that?
Mk Smith Despres writes, teaches, and makes art in western Massachusetts. Their poems appear or are forthcoming in Frozen Sea, Hunger Mountain, Radar, Salamander, and elsewhere. They also write books for kids. Their picture book, Night Song, was one of Bank Street’s Best Children's Books of the Year.
Julie Epp is a watercolour artist based in Metro Vancouver whose intimate, dreamlike paintings explore hidden emotions and the shifting layers of identity. Through delicate, surreal imagery, she reflects on what is lost, buried, or unspoken within us. Her work invites stillness and self-examination, offering viewers a quiet space to reconnect with their inner world. http://www.julilyart.com/
