a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
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
No angry hands
swatting, no lawn mowers.
Only the sharp spindles
of dandelions. Only
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
Whitney Waters’ poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Twelve Mile Review, Main Street Rag, North Dakota Quarterly, and Great Smokies Review. She has her MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson College and teaches for Western Carolina University. She lives in Asheville, North Carolina.