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Luke Johnson lives on the California coast with his wife and three kids. His poems can be found at Kenyon Review, Florida Review, Narrative, Cortland Review, Thrush, Palette, Nimrod, and elsewhere.
©2021 West Trade Review
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Luke Johnson
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The Hive
Son:
Last night
I watched you steal a cig
and light it on the stove.
You slipped outside
to weave the smoke
and set it, flaring,
in a hive of bees,
to smother them softly
to sleep. First,
the workers
then the guardians,
then the queen
the last to quit, withered
into the wind.
I yelled,
but you would
not heed me, threw stones
but you did not care. You, who
thrashed
with knuckled fit, fought
hard to stay with womb,
what called to you there?
What carried off
into the amethystine mist,
wooing
you out for its pleasure?
Image by Vivek Doshi on Unsplash
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