Stigma / Bryn Homuth

Blossoms reach up
out of intertwined courgette 

stems, gold, splayed, 
like children’s hands
pressed against glass. 

Inspecting them 
in their raised box, I pluck one
still mostly shut 

but beginning to open,
to stuff, dredge, fry crisp
as dinner’s amuse-bouche.
Then on my fingertips 

a sudden vibration, 
and, in my alarm, a drop. 
Fresh grass breaks the fall, 
and from the petal purse 
fly three honeybees 
to alight on new stems, 
disappearing into the twisted mass 
as they land. How fortunate I am 
that they did not leave, 
and how I wish, 
to be startled again 
and again, as if by living
wingbeats pulsing briefly 

against my palm, 
by soft, everyday tremors, 
to let go as I did, 
and see, from the confines 
of wherever they commenced, 
that which would pollinate.

Stigma: Copyright 2021 by Bryn Homuth. All rights reserved.

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