Yellowjackets

By Karen J. Weyant

When my father held his Bic lighter
to the nests in back of the garage,
the gray paper pulp sparked
 
then blackened. Ashes fell,
coating crawling ivy and clover.
A few yellowjackets fled,
 
one or two swirled, flying
into the sweaty face of my father,
but most too stunned,
 
their usual side-to-side swag
of a dance, flailing in the smoke.
When one landed on my arm, I stiffened.
 
His wings settled into a still gauze,
body coiled in yellow bands,
the same shade as buttercups we held
 
to our skin, cupping sunlight near our chins.
Every step, careful, quivering, as if neither
of us knew who was supposed to sting.

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad x
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!
Subscribe To: State Of The Arts Magazine
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!