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.