AJ Pfeffer

ABEILLE, OR NO LEGS

(after the medieval bestiary depictions of Bees, courtesy of Pliny the Elder, Augustine, and Isidore of Seville, as well as Greek/Roman beliefs)

i know the truth.

when your gods think feast,

luxury, prophet,

i am their answer.

i waggle, i watch

i raise my home, an architect.

[you say;

I am the smallest of birds,

I am born from the corruption of calves

bring me here with bronze

smoke me out for a golden prize

revive me under beasts of burden.]

oh isidore, oh pliny,

you think

and paint me into these things.

i know

and let you have your fun.

you are still becoming

;

(and i want you to live,)

(the most unusual of it all.)

i paint the fields with life

and i, am we, are collective,

am/are unafraid of bringing our own ends

in favor of our greater we, of our you;

when you keep me

it is with a reverence

for i am my own god

the gift your own request.

but then,

you have stopped telling us

of your losses. we mourn

alone.

we know the truth;

you have forsaken

your answer.

aj pfeffer (he/him) is a trans and jewish writer buried in history books somewhere in the northeast of the US. His first and greatest love is sneaking into the voices of historical figures and pulling out their poetry. You can find his other work in warning lines, Ink Drinkers, with confetti, and more, or say hi to him on twitter where he lives at @Pfeffington.