It’s winter and
There are bees in you.
They push their way out of
The corners of your mouth
When you grin, a driven mass.
Bees in your eyes, they crawl
Out of your ears like slow honey.
Their bristle legs are sticky
From the things between your teeth.
And me:
My ice hands on
Your humming cheeks
Only makes them angry.
When I blow to warm you,
And my hands, the bees
Scatter.
You try to catch them then,
You leave me.
I wait for my hands.
Miette is a studio art major at Beloit college in Wisconsin. Her three favorite things are the Sawmill river, the Green River, and Turtle creek.