Sharon Black



The beekeeper is in my house,
up to his elbows in soapy water and rubber gloves,
unclogging drains, scrubbing floors,
wiping down the surfaces in all my rooms,
the full five storeys,
throwing open the now-sparkling windows
so day streams in and fills each room with honey.
I try to kiss him but he pulls away –
he doesn’t want to save me like that –
and besides, he’s in love with a woman
whose shoulders he massages with sunlight,
feeds her royal jelly from a 22-carat spoon.



(from my collection 'The Art of Egg', published by Two Ravens Press)

Copyright © Sharon Black 2012