Balling the Queen

By David Harrison
 

The bees come and go,
following songlines
in the air.
They scent out gardens,
a field of wildflowers,
trees in bloom
by the river.

They return to dance
their discoveries
for the others.

The hive is enlivened,
the dance repeated,
mirrored into knowing,
until all are taking turns
flying out of darkness
into
the flower-painted day.

At the center of this frenzy,
the ordered chaos
on which they thrive,
lives the queen.

Sedate.
Observant.
All-knowing.

The hive has lived its life for her.
She is mother to them all,
their taskmaster
and their guide.
She has led them
to this hollow tree,
this cliff face,
this burrow
in the ground.

Without effort,
she steers them,
directs them,
cajoles them.
A communication
more powerful than words,
it is all subtlety,
sensation and gesture.

They spend their lives
under this spell.

Until the day comes
to kill her.

The hive swarms
into a ball
all around her.
They crush her to death
with their warm loving weight.

Is it rebellion?

Or,
has she called to them
like all the times before?

Is this her final wish,
the last demand uttered
in the mystery language
of mothers and of bees?

As her corpse is carried
before the new queen,
to be devoured,
are they setting her,
themselves,
free?
 

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