The right time, but long distance, Emelie Watkins ’20

Emelie Watkins ’20

The right time, but long distance

My fingers are dancing like bees, grasping this water bottle while they can’t breathe. Could I, a crumb, find the air they need? Or am I stuck on the plate doomed for the drain? My demise, I presume, is far away. But it seems that I meet Death each passing day. While I play with the bees, she chases them away. I’ve walked past her and winked (did you just wink at me?). But she’s not really having it.

I wrap my arms around me and crinkle the sides of my shirt. I hold her hands that constrict me. It’s tight, but I can squirm, it’s not that bad. Her gaze unsettles the bees. The bees in my heart keep me awake at night, but I let them work me freely to soothe the frostbitten pain in my right lung. I am their hive.

Death evades my flirting. Maybe she has an allergy. But during the beeloving weather, I find a lily of the valley to show me that, perhaps, she is not the one for me. He is a flower, a boy who pushes my pillows into the form of hearts and balances me away from Death’s edge. He inspires a gentle pain that strangles my heart to the tune of his perfume. Our intimacy drips down my dreams.

I hope that he catches my snores on the south wind in the coming season. From my sleeping mouth dribbles a current for him to follow. I await the dawn of our next meeting, where the bees and I wake to see him again.