Lunacy

A bee’s trying
to escape the dark
thicket of your hair.

Neither of us noticed
his entrance
into the thicket

although once he was there
you noted a peculiar
sensation above

your eyes, ‘Like God
drinking lemonade
on my skull,’ you said.

Now that the bee
has been noticed, and
would like to leave

your thicket, you’re sure
he is going to sting
you. You run around

the yard in circles
with your face screwed
up. The bee is

understandably
disoriented. ‘Hold still,’
I shout. I want

to find a twig
to tempt the bee
away from you.

But you keep
spinning. I don’t
think anyone turning

so fast and so
afraid of bees
with a bee

in her hair
can hear. When at last
you stop, I can’t

find the bee any-
where, though you say
you still feel God

drinking lemonade
on the top
of your head.