Busy Bee…

You have always been a busy bee,
I heard my Auntie say,
under the Olive Tree one day.

She was a woman that never left
the square she made back in ’63.
A few acres is all she needed.
I guess….

My Auntie lived life in a matchbox
tucked away in the plots she read
the worlds she created by pen
writings between floating walls
waves of unsettled thoughts.

An eccentric woman, a writer
dancing to her own beat
chained home by her mind.

I relate to her chains
except I’m trapped by my legs
and stopped by pain….

Mystery after mystery she wrote
poem after poem I write

They say I’m a lot like my Auntie
Both–busy bees…. of the mind.

care for a reading

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1 Comment

  1. Something tells me you are harvesting in your poetry what your Auntie sowed in those plots that were her writings. Listening to you read this was a real pleasure because it helped direct the flow of your thoughts. Great writing!

    Like

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