Honeybee: A Poem

WORDS BY BRINDY FRANCIS / @BRINDYFRANCIS
VISUAL BY ZOE GILLIGAN / @SAOLZOE


Honeybee

I remember spoonfuls of honey;
The jar always seemed to be empty.


You told me my hair was made of real gold.
You used to paint my nails purple and tell me I was a fairy.


We would lay under the skylight as you told me about the stars,
“I love you to moon and back and there and back again.”


You always smelled like fresh cookies and pink flowers;
Probably because you loved roses.


Your skin always seemed to be thinner than mine.
I always thought about your slim fingers and poor posture.


My fondest memory was our trip to the park.
I told you about Mason, my first grade crush, and handed you a bouquet of dandelions.


We pulled off the petals one by one,
“He loves me, he loves me not.”


But I remember when it was quiet;
When my fingernails were bare and the only sunlight came from your apartment’s windowsill.


The days when your love for roses first began.
You liked how the colors matched your lipstick.


The days where your posture was delicate,
But your fingers were slim.


I would sit on the big blue bed,
“She loves me, she loves me not.”


You don’t wear your favorite patch anymore.
You no longer enjoy live music or shifting your eyes through flipping pages.


The sun refuses to make eye contact with you anymore.
The dandelions don’t grow near you.


You now smell like cigarettes,
But you still love pink roses.


I’m sitting on my small blue bed,
“She loves me, she loves me not.”


Your posture has worsened,
But your finger are still slim.


I remember spoonfuls of honey;
The jar always seemed to be empty.






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