“Wait For It .. Our Cats Face When She Watches Our New Rescue Kitten”

Intimate detail

(moji čebeli, ki zamuja letala z mano)

BY HEID E. ERDRICH

Late summer, late afternoon, my work

interrupted by bees who claim my tea,

even my pen looks flower-good to them.

I warn a delivery man that my bees,

who all summer have been tame as cows,

now grow frantic, aggressive, difficult to shoo

from the house. I blame the second blooms

come out in hot colors, defiant vibrancy—

unexpected from cottage cosmos, nicotianna,

and bean vine. But those bees know, I’m told

by the interested delivery man, they have only

so many days to go. He sighs at sweetness untasted.

Still warm in the day, we inspect the bees.

This kind stranger knows them in intimate detail.

He can name the ones I think of as shopping ladies.

Their fur coats ruffed up, yellow packages tucked

beneath their wings, so weighted with their finds

they ascend in slow circles, sometimes drop, while

other bees whirl madly, dance the blossoms, ravish

broadly so the whole bed bends and bounces alive.

He asks if I have kids, I say not yet. He has five,

all boys. He calls the honeybees his girls although

he tells me they’re ungendered workers 

who never produce offspring. Some hour drops,

the bees shut off. In the long, cool slant of sun,

spent flowers fold into cups. He asks me if I’ve ever

seen a Solitary Bee where it sleeps. I say I’ve not.

The nearest bud’s a long-throated peach hollyhock.

He cradles it in his palm, holds it up so I spy

the intimacy of the sleeping bee. Little life safe in a petal,

little girl, your few furious buzzings as you stir

stay with me all winter, remind me of my work undone. #bees #berlin #poemoftheday #poetry #lovely #stayawake #creative #tumblrpoetry #poetplatform #poeticme

Que será, será. Philosophy I need to bear with. #springiton #wait #tropicalcherry #eatingicecream

Ribiška fešta

Moja terapevtka govorij o prekinitvi vzorca, 

zaporedja ponovitev,  

ki jo je ob rob cule

šivala naša prednica.

Če ne bo polna suhih hrušk, 

bo slasten spomin vštikan vanjo, 

na zanimivo zgodo, 

premakneno iglo, 

polito črnilo, 

napake zgodvine, 

ki nima dovolj električne napeljave, 

da bi vzdrževala svetlobo, 

v sobi kakšne znanstvenice, 

ki bi nam odprla vsaj okna, 

da pokukamo.. 

"Si bla tam doli včeraj? 

Ma, kaj se je v resnici zgodilo?“ 

Journals

Oleksii Tokovenko on Etsy

See our #Etsy or #Journals tags

Working class love

(for Mišon, the greatest artist I know)

When you are working class, 

you don't get to have

original thoughts:

you are suppose to oil the machine, 

that makes them. 

You get through the same pattern

day by day, 

knowing it has to be completed, 

from beginning until the end

and you need to get creative, 

to squeeze in some fun, 

for stuff and people you really love. 

Veš.

Laundry.

Dry.

Med

"A so moje bele hlače že suhe?"

nožje.

Veš ti, da te ljubim?

Prej je bil pesek,

zdaj pa edinstven -

kamen na moji dlani.

Tnx for the light. #feminism

Something blue

(nekje nad Milanom)

Ko se sreča upogiba

pod težo smrtnosti

in v megli ne vidim več dreves,

me primeš za roko.

Vzpenjava se,

dokler se tesnoba s prs ne dvigne

nad hribe v obliki dinozavrov.

`Vedno je bilo tu, veš. To jezero.' rečeš.

Modra lisa (na zemljevidu)

je dobila dimenzije,

večje od kazalca,

ki jo je božal.

Strah.

Ko bivam

me je.

Ljubiti.

ves čas se sprašujem

ali bom izkrvavela,

preden se naučim

Mirna.

v objemu sem

Nejasnost.

po čem se meri ljubav

leta, otroci, strast ali

Corinne

Z njenim imenom

se začne

Mehkoba,

ki potuje čez mojo kožo,

čez nejasnost in strah

njen dotik