Empathy for the Bees


My first love hates me.
One June I brought her
honeysuckle from my garden.

A year and one month later
I came across dead poppies
on my patio. I slept

through summer and fall
while next door a woman
shot her husband. I waned

in my bed and woke
to the fragrance of holly
stood to stretch

near my open window.
A bee flew in and stung me.
I set its body on the grass

in my front yard. I did not
go to my neighbor’s wake.
I visited his wife in prison.


Photo By: Chris Hawes

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About Author

J.B. Fredkin is a California native currently living in New York City. He received his BA from Santa Clara University where he served as editor of the Santa Clara Review. He received his MFA from The New School.

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