“The View from Brooklyn, Summer 2020” poem by mary lawrence ware

There is a bee colony beneath my feet.

I listen to the buzz of endangered 

Phobia nestled between wooden slats.

At night, when snaking tenebrosity runs

Along the skyline’s spine

Fireworks crackle and shake

Over busted-open hydrants,

The graveyard of Ebbets Field--

The apartment frames we lapse in and out of--

The sleepless two-step of an endangered colony.

In my 2am darkness, 

I count blessings like beads--

That I can still breathe-- while

My pillows suffocate the deafening

Pyrokinesis bought at half price,

Beat up from the ride in handcuffs 

All the way from South Carolina. 

New noise spills through the streets,

Chants and tears,

Cold canisters crashing on concrete but

The same subway hums through the split hexagons 

Of Flatbush mellifera and cerana. 

They say the hive signifies wealth 

And abundance,

But we only know this from the keepers,

Who once swore to serve and protect now

Suited to smoke out their hosts,

And laugh at the futility of self destructive 

Stingers caught in blue moneyed nylon.

I lower a sign to see, 

The crowd holds a deep

Breath, before wing breaking

Caught on video trickles sticky with trauma.

There’s honey on their hands, dripping down the trigger.

The buzzing stops. There’s no more breath.

They sell us smoke on the corners 

To buy back what they’ve ravaged.

Each night we plant our feet outside, and hear it

Breaking overhead.