Two Poems

by Lois Marie Harrod (August 2020)

Bees, Graham Sutherland, 1963



The Latest Buzz




do not

have ears

and no one knows

if they hear.

Nor do

the Bombus

really dance—


after forage

they buzz to nest

and fuzz laps

around their fellows


resuming field.

Some think

this drone and prance



and surmise

the humming hymn

gives spin

to all the noise

at tracked

and trackless




Where the Womb, Now Worry


Oh, my darling, I am emptied

like an orange peel of its orange,

like an apple skin swirling air,

thin or thick, often humid, heavy, 

a potato peel coiling a density

where its body has been, oh the grit of husk,

the little eyes warting the wrap,

nasty and larval, sending up stem.



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