A lovely poem from student, colleague, and friend, Leslie Scott Harris. I deeply appreciate all of his BEES Garden inspired poetry, but this one in particular resonates with me at this moment in time.
It’s cold now in December.
I remember tender things
like watching Mockingbirds assemble.
Every member sings.
Wishing it were still November
I’d engender what love brings
to mind, but I in turn dissemble
in the month of leafy rings.
Brooding in this barn red shed.
The harm that’s spread the Earth throughout
Has left me wanting for a wet
soft kiss to slake my heart in drought.
Now fugacious plants are dead.
I raise my head. The Crows are out.
A Hummingbird for epaulet.
I hope we figure this shit out.
-Leslie Scott Harris