A Honey's Bee

By Dinesh Sairam

I've watched upon a silent Honey Bee, From tree to tree and day to nightHe moves like what the winds could be, In ceaseless, solemn flight.

He never stops to pause or takes his rest, And rides the land in flying reach, He sips on every flowers breast, And pours them each to each.

At thousand hundred flowers does he eat: The roses and ivies in sway; To hives he brings the yellow sweet And waits another day.

And you, desperately watching inner soul, Of quaint notice to fair and form, Do gather Love in times of foul, Like Bees at Nature's Balm.

God

By Demetrius Burns

There is hope for a tree that falls, And we cut down God a long time ago Only to leave her there As we wandered about in pride Cutting down others As a form of evangelism.

While She became a rose.

Textile

By Stephanie De La Rosa

I am born, cast and thrown Of threads plucked off The mountainside, spun, unspun. Coarse fingers warp and weft And twine my sinews across the rod. I drown in red, yellow like the sun, White like light, and Maya blue, And the threads of my life Stretch tighter than nerves

On coca leaves, pachacuti, The next b’ak’tun; looming end. Hands bleed history into The rich fibers they preserve, Whisper their fears into My ears, and ask their bread

From my beaten, knotted ends. I pass through so many hands. Hands cracked and bowed from Crafting me, from embellishing With silken threads, adding tags That begin with “Hecho en…”