27th May: Geography, by Sean Borodale

8 September 2013

Bees in the roof, bees on the walls
stitching the house in a net of flightways,
just like surveillance, just like snoopers
in the open air.

And they rig crack, lump, recess, ridge
to the commune of a memory;
and they rig it
to the thin low wide little door
of the North in the hive over there;

and they rig it
to our conversation and commentary,
and the brittle sweat’s armada of frightened water
on our brows;

and they rig it, finally, to the minutes
of the sun’s last floodlit bit of daylight.

I had to say, today, I said,
you have us locked inside your noise-truss.

You are a brain in impermanence,
cooling, knowing, keeping
the latitude and longitude of this, our house;
each bee a synapse slowly forming an arrival.

And in your trance I had to say, this is
an afternoon of lifetimes tightened into knots.

You have gradated us:
vibrations, colours, trajectories of substance,
and the thermals
turning this house to align with yours.

[Read in Bee Journal, published by Cape Poetry.]

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