It's Still Life

They Left This morning

four bees
lay quietly
on the patio stones.

not sleeping.

the sun
had simply asked
too much of them.

I carried each one
to the shade,

where lavender
still remembers
word for word,
their names.

I’d rather believe
they’ve gone

somewhere cooler,
where foxgloves
never wilt,

and clover
keeps flowering.

somewhere
where no bee
need choose
between thirst
and sunlight.

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story Poetry Slam event on Thursday, 27 August. Including the word: Word. ©Misky 2006-2026.