The colours of the garden are impossible. The bee on the coneflower, yellow, pink, and orange, a scream. Summer Gayfeather in the background, and fantasy of milkweed now gone to fluff. Monarchs light and leave. Continual harvest: berries, bramble. A humid breeze of Morning Glory, blue on the white picket fence; West to the setting sun, East to the rising. A silence that’s never been said. A sentence that’s never been read.
A bee knows one thing:
gather pollen for honey.
Honey for the young.
Carol H. Jewell
Carol H. Jewell is a musician, teacher, librarian, and poet living in Upstate New York with her wife and eight cats. She received her Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from The College of Saint Rose in 2016.
The Ekphrastic Review
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