By Belinda Rismiller
About the Bee

The catholic bee, dressed in her uniform
of stripes, cleans the hive, feeds the brood then

for her job. Following directions danced
by a fellow worker she travels to ever-changing

Today it may be the deep-throated daffodil
she’ll plumb or a stand of clover, the flower plain,
the nectar

delectable. Do you think she stops to chat
with caterpillars or ladybugs she happens to meet?
Or pause

to watch butterflies hang-glide overhead?
Does envy or regret enter her mind on the trips back
and forth?

Does she long to be different from the dowdy
drone she is? I imagine her doing loop-ti-loops and
barrel rolls

when no one’s there or stealing a lick of royal
jelly when the queen’s back is turned. And in the morning

she dons her customary habit, she slips
into panties and bra of scarlet silk.