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Bees, so many bees.


After twenty years of marriage, we walked out
of the bush and on to a rough dirt road
we followed till we saw a pond
we might be able to get to.
The ground was boggy and buzzing.
The pond was thick with weed
and slime. It was not
the sort of pond anyone would
swim in, but we did—picking and sliding
into the water over the bog and bees,
bees we suddenly noticed were
everywhere, were settling on our hair
as we swam, ducks turning surprised eyes
our way. After twenty years of marriage
what is surprising isn’t really so much
the person you are with but to find
yourselves so out of place in this scene, cold
but not able to get out without
stepping over bees, so many bees.


Anna Jackson

Poetry

February 2018


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