Moreover, the lord thy god will send the hornet among them, until they that are left, and hide themselves from thee, be destroyed- Deuteronomy 7:20
Let them dream a feast:
spinach artichoke to dip
their long legs in, watermelon
flesh and strawberries’ sweet
nectar on their mandibles, funk
of apples fermenting beneath trees.
They’d get drunk
on beer and white wine, fly
in dazed circles into the prismatic
sky. Fizz of sugar in the glass—
swell and release. Their mothers
would still be alive.
There would be no
tetrametherin, no
petroleum distillates.
No angry hands
swatting, no lawn mowers.
Only the sharp spindles
of dandelions. Only
pollen-heavy puddles
to surf. Only the cherry blossoms’
beat and thrum.
Their paper tunnels, mortared
mouthful by mouthful,
would be protected.
They would rest, wings bent
back and bodies curled, after
a day spent scavenging and building.
In this dream, when I feel
them swarm over
my body, my face pressed to the ground,
I would not be afraid, and they
would not be afraid. And they would not
hide themselves, would not
be destroyed.
