The Caribbean Writer


Audre Lorde


One hundred thousand bees
make a sturdy hive ready
three days the moon is full
we cut honey.

Hot knives slice caps of wax
from each heavy frame
rich and pollened
darkness drips
from the laden comb.

Sadiq loads the extractor
Curtis hums
leveling the spin.
Sweet creeps like bees
through each crack of hot air.

Outside the honey house
hungry drones cluster
low-voiced and steady
we strain laughing
drunk with honey.

Before twilight
long rows of bottles stand
labeled waiting.

It’s hard work
making a living
two dollars at a time.


Copyright © Audre Lorde

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