Member-only story
The Day The Bees Fell
A poem
The dream has long slipped my fingers
It has dripped into the longing void
Where it meets the moons of former lovers
You and I, we lay dreaming for years
Our dreamscape was a herb garden
Fragrant, sun-filled and full of promise
When we looked up, we were greeted by Venus
And everything, everything was possible.
Our common dream was a paper crane.
But one blazing summer’s day
All the bees died
They fell out of the sky like tiny bombs.
The hours on the sundial grew shorter.
The emerald river turned into a grey trickle.
We turned to each other in disbelief.
We have done nothing wrong!
We have watered and fertilized our dream!
But the herb garden was dying.
Scarabs and snails feasted on tender leaves.
When did the vines hang their heads?
When did the soil turn toxic?
When did you start averting your gaze?
I scream into the void where the dream went.
The echo taunts me, taunts me.
When I take your hand, it is cold.
It has turned into a moonstone.
As I lay my head against your chest
We close our eyes
Desperately waiting for night to fall.
© Lisa Once 2025. All Rights Reserved.
