Not Afraid of Bees There is enough complexity of life in this micro-creature to still the gaze and protract the ordinary progression of time. There is enough simplicity of being in the observer to abandon all assumptions about the observed, an open-ended question about whom is whom. There is enough nakedness of intention to challenge the usual apprehensions on both sides, in both dimensions. There is enough congruence between the iridescence of paper wings and the iris of an eye, to birth mystics for years to come. But who is the mystic? Is it the bee? Honey and fear mingle in one shared aliveness, one sweetness, one wariness. The bee leaves me alone without really leaving me alone.
Cortney Collins lives on the Front range of Colorado with her two beloved feline companions, Pablo (after Neruda) and Lida Rose (after a barbershop quartet song from The Music Man.) She is the founder of the pandemic-era virtual poetry open mic and community Zoem, which ran for two years and produced an anthology of its poets’ work, Magpies: A Zoem Anthology, of which she is co-editor. Her poetry has been published by South Broadway Press, Sheila-Na-Gig, 24hour Neon Mag, and other various print and online journals.
Amethyst Review 