Working toward sainthood this summer solved some of my problems. For one, my daily-Mass-going mother got off my back about getting a job and moving out permanently. Plus, it gave her something to brag ... [+]
There's a body in the blueberries.
Inside the hedge
from where the bees emerge
and emerge.
So many bees. So many
I can feel them buzzing
beneath my skin.
They tunnel the tubes
of my earways. They walk
the globes of my eyes.
In through the nose, out
through the mouth, leaving traces,
other bodies they have known,
hair washed with motel shampoo,
the wishes that come before sleep,
snatches of names, leafy muffles.
Each bee plants its message
soon to ripen, swell summer velvet:
it goes white to green to blue.