Sometimes, when no one is watching, the bees tire of their endless laboring and slip away into the beds of clovers to rest. At dusk, rabbits nuzzle them awake as they scrounge through the green, exercising their pastoral rights. Puzzled and drowsy, the bees scuttle into night like tourists in their own gardens. The little foragers don’t have long before the hive will halt in their absence, but for a while they can linger in the freedom that breeds under the silky moonlit sky. The dreamy seekers delight in the glow of nighttime pollen as it dusts the air with promises.
Brooke Hoppstock-Mattson is an American poet living in Canada with her spouse and ginger cat, David Bryne. When she is not writing, she is collecting honey & salmon for her day job. Brooke has work published in the borderline and forthcoming in First Literary Review – East.