Not a bee. Not a wolf. A wasp.
Once I saw one try to lift a lizard
off a wall. The lizard did nothing, only
held its pink suction toes a bit tighter.
But after a few stings, the lizards
tongue flicked furious, and it fell.
Ive felt it too. When a man you love
wont love you back, almost nothing
can pry your sticky fingers from a phone,
even if you just want to hear the pause
in his voice you know so wellso well
you could pick out his exact breath
in a darkened room full of men. A mother
bee wolf teaches its babies well. To dig
an underground cell of soil almost
a yard deep, she carries a pebble at a time back
to the surface in her shiny mandibles.
Paints a white spot with her furry legs
on the place where her baby should start
digging once its ready to try the lavender air.
This new wasp will find a lizard of her very
own. At least she has a directionI am sick
with the lack. I need a mark, a tattoo
etched on the arch of my foot, telling me
to hold on, clutch only what is mine.