Any common grief can be enough to make you look up
In Spring you might see pink apple blossoms on naked brown stems,
no chartreuse leaves for sustenance yet,
only the labia pink of cotton candy,
waiting for bees – honeybees that gather
apple blossom nectar for the new Queen.
Bees carry pollen from flower to flower;
no shudder of orgasm there, that we know of.
Petals will shower like confetti in time, return to the earth,
but life is sparked, and apples with their secret star will always grow.
I want you to know that apples slices
dipped in amber honey are an antidote for grief.
When grief comes, as it does to all of us, look up.
Apples are always beginning again,
and honey being made.
Smear honey all over your body.
Cover the places rubbed raw.
Taste the apple again.
Wrap yourself in gauze and honey.
Roll and wail like an the infant you really are.
Grief requires rocking and time–
lots of time, tears and honey.
But I tell you this, “There will be scars,
yet there will also be stars.”
Yes.