The Bees Are Baking Poem by Hans Ostrom

Bees inside my head wear gold aprons
because they're baking tiny tan cookies.
Of course they buzz. It's how they talk.
They're speaking of their relationship
to time, of how they've been bees
again and again through the ages.

I ask them a question. Horrified,
they vanish, leaving only the pollen
of their buzzing. Oh, well. Their
little bee kitchen smells warm.
I put all of their cookies, which taste
of you-guessed-it, on my tongue at
once because I'm suddenly quite hungry.


hans ostrom 2017