after she mates, she gathers
nectar & pollen to gestate
makes herself a little cave
where she will wait on promise, 
lit from the inside, honey
bellied, artful dreams of saffron
plumes, paper whites. 
she thinks her secrets
ancient, dark, like a figure
of speech, narrator
unreliable as the day
is long. she tends to her own
oracle & half-open memories
whine, become livid, 
covetous of her self- 
communion. she waits
for the growing that comes
best with quiet, 
what was her solitary
winter’s confinement.

Valerie Wallace

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