The rustling bees chide the white fence
& wooden gashes seep their sap
To scent the yellowed grass
Sweet & tawny as hay.
Back in the city, jarred like jewels
The musk-night lights speak their truths
& persuade many good girls
To writhe like water snakes
In lava lamp glow of townhome
Basements. It’s a bee-like itch that
Tames them, slick vinyl silence
As teeth to skin, to pray &
Seek forgiveness from the fruit belt
Then sip dusk’s moondark cider.
Morning bleeds through slatted blinds
To wash their pale faces clean of decay.
At dawn, the earth blooms gold anew
& the bustling hive of city streets
Becomes a honeyed hymn,
Sung drunk to coming fall.
Here, in this stillness, she breathes
The last warm breath of summer,
& casts her virgin curse away
To the bees & things unnamed.
Indiana Plant is a freshman and Eccles Scholar at the University of Utah, where she is studying applied economics and anthropology. Her poetry has been published by The Palouse Review, Sink Hollow, Live Poets Society of New Jersey, and Scripto Literary Magazine. She has received an Honorable Mention in the Penguin Random House U.S. Creative Writing Awards. Her debut novel, Beyond the Grave, was a finalist for the Lost Island Press Publishing Contest for Dark YA Fiction.