the bees of Belmontet

Lavandin du Quercy - A Lavender farm in Quercy, Belmontet, France

It is that time of year when provisions come in

from the mini-bar window sill, the heater

one-bar for vapour, from Lavandin

du Quercy - Belmontet.

The glass bottle leaks twenty-five years on

from fields of ultra violet stretching out

fresh playgrounds for honey bees,

no expiry date,

on a girl playing Pinball. Handheld,

hysterical, ‘There is no Wizard!

It’s jammed. I hate this game!’

throwing it to the ground, stamping,

screaming to one of the ball bearings, ‘Don’t panic!

Don’t worry! I’m coming in to get you!’

And falling right there,

for some such girl, in turned-up jeans

in the hand-me-down-years of denim, cotton,

checked, chequered, capers -

becoming lighter and softer somehow

against sunflowers and corn husks,

tearaway days of wet riverbanks and bridges;

most things green, wood or stone, until moss

leaf and hemp wound its way

through everything. She is still there -

hair wet from the rope swing over, hands sticky

with honeycomb, sat on the wall scuffing the brickwork

shoeing away the bees of Belmontet.

ed2020