Spring Dream Beginning with Bees
For the longest time, bees clung to my left forearm. They weren’t stinging me, but they wouldn’t leave. I wasn’t in pain, but I saw they were feasting on me. My arm was soft, waxy, sticky. Sticky with what bees make. In another part, I discovered I was naked from the waist down at a potluck. I didn’t touch myself, but what stands out most in memory was the luxuriance of my bush. Springy! Then I wondered what to do with an unlit candle made soft from some hot object from above (cassoulette?). I wanted to light the warm candle if I could and smell honeysuckle. Merry Speece has published two chapbooks of poetry and is a recipient of a state arts commission fellowship in prose. Her Sisters Grimke Book of Days (Oasis Press, England), which one reviewer called a prose poem, is a work of fragmented historical scholarship.
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