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Paul Williamson: On a Branch

Paul Williamson

Aug 31 2017

1 mins

On a Branch

 

A finely tiger coloured sporran of bees

with over a thousand animal souls

a swarm in the surge of spring

hangs on a small gum tree in the reserve.

Workers fly off and back drowsy with gorged honey

that scents the air for twenty metres around.

Within, the old queen waits on news of her next home.

Her former hive is close in the giant eucalypt

with the glinting stream of wings and the daughter queen.

 

I cared for hives as a teenager,

a rural cotton-clad rent collector with gauze mask

bearing an iron hive tool and distracting smoke.

Under one hive a copperhead, cousin of the cobra, briefly kept warm.

Bee stings were less painful than falls and scrapes in paddocks

or punishments for young misdemeanors.

I hot knifed full combs and spun out sweetness

while bees worked for the common good.

Paul Williamson

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