Dance by Annick Yerem

I was scared of the drive home,

hundreds of kilometres towards

the second funeral in five weeks,

so you went to the best baker

in town, got me a sweet braided

loaf, support measured in flour,

raisins, slivered almonds

But when you unpacked it,

a dead bee was baked into the crust,

fully preserved as if poured in resin,

its blossom dreams halted in flight

forever.

At least it died happy, you said

and I imagined that bee, doing

one last waggle dance, wanting

to share the lemony sweetness

with all the other bees, dancing

as if its life depended on them

to find it before the heat came.

I left it on there and during the drive

opened the window, peeled it off

and let it fly, one last time, near

flowers, near trees, dancing,

twirling and the next moment

gone, just gone.

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Annick Yerem (she/her) lives and works in Berlin. In her dreams, she can swim like a manatee. Annick tweets @missyerem and has, to her utmost delight, been published by Pendemic, Detritus, @publicpoetry, RiverMouthReview, #PoetRhy, Anti-Heroin-Chic, Rejection Letters, Dreich, 192, The Failure Baler and Rainbow Poems. https://missyerem.wordpress.com. https://linktr.ee/annickyerem