i would put my ear to the wall
& hear their gossip. they talked
about becoming a heart muscle 
& where to burry the spirit 
of the old woman who once owned out house.
i considered what it would be like
to be many and one. a hive
is a being of futures. always another
body to sing with. i felt so singular 
in my sadnesses. cracks in the concrete basement.
a dead cat laying on her side 
& becoming a colony. the house had eyes
in every crease. the bees loved one another.
& yet, once a day on the windowsill 
i witnessed a bee as they turned
back into a machine. little skeletons.
my own skeleton, radiant & walking.
in the night, my bones becoming deer.
sometimes, i bought gummy chicken's feet
& gave them the bees. the bees would laugh.
they found dismemberment hilarious.
i was coming apart. found my hand 
on the bookshelf. my throat in the oven.
all the while, the bees were everywhere.
they held mass. light candles.
all behind the walls. i took a knife.
the moon was gone. so was the sun.
just me. just me in the dull bathroom glow.
pocket knife carving wall. you are there.
i know you are there. the bees 
to spite me, vanished. migrated to
the farthest reaches of the house.
they spoke in unison, "you are not
one of us." all of my honey. all of my legs.
all of my bone. 

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