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Kate Hewett: a poem

The Beehive

Walking, we notice bees coming and

going through a crack in the bricks.

Hear the fractured hum – picture

tunnels, larvae, industry, drones,

honey dripping through the soft

mortar. A can of spray foam

in hand, we survey our options.

Imagine sealing them in, making

them the amber chips of one day

in the distant future. Come autumn,

the exterminator tells us, they'll either

die off, or they'll leave of their own accord.

If you really need them gone before that

you can always smoke them out.

Makes them drowsy, disoriented,

you'll see them bumping into each

other as they leave. They'll

just find someplace new to live.

Very humane. Ahead, behind,

the year unspools. We loosen

our grip on tomorrow. At the

foot of the wall, fallen

bees mark the spot.

Kate Hewett (she/her) is a queer poet, writer, live arts organiser and customer service advisor based in the North of England. She is the co-founder of Hand Mirror and writes about queerness, always. She is on Instagram at @kateleahhewett and online here:

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