The Bee Sting
“You are doing this for love.”
Do you remember
She says
one time, in the dining room?
I was eight, no,
maybe nine.
I’m not sure, She
was gone, I think.
Must have been
already. Then I was ten.
You blink.
Anyway, we were there,
all of us, and Mom.
She held my hand.
She asked me about Him,
about if, about Sundays.
You were there, I think.
She asked about a feeling.
She chews at the side of her nail.
I mean, I swear it happened.
But I don’t think Dad was there.
I don’t know if he knows, god.
It wasn’t bad, mostly I remember the tv.
It was always tv, in the leather recliner.
I didn’t. I didn’t ever have a feeling. The-
You remember, surely?
You think of guest bedrooms,
of the middle of the night,
of fingers on waistbands.
No.
Of long winding drives
in backseats,
of green eyes on baby blue.
I don’t know anything
at all.
