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