Poem: Bumblebees Are Made of Ash

Bumblebees Are Made of Ash

Martha Silano (@marthasilano in Thrush Literary Journal)

The day is a dragonfly hovering in the Timothy. It could rain for months

before the sun goes down. An orange buoy bobs while a sparrow

sings through a wall. The world smells of cedar, skunk spray,

a sedge’s sharp edge. The cat’s ears clear their throats,

prepare to speak. Kinnell called it “the inexhaustible

freshness of the sea.” As if you could imitate

a preening cormorant. As if she’d said can’t

lean this way, but you heard can’t live,

destiny’s dangling web. A horse

82 miles from its barn while

your brain swings open

like a giant pink

gate.

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Poem: Bumblebees Are Made of Ash was originally published on Ned Hayes