Poetry

The bee box

You made this;

working with wood and mortar

to build nesting sites for native bees – 

the leafcutter, the resin, the blue-banded.

For some you drilled holes to size to suit

their tiny forms, 

for others experimented with mixtures

of sand and water

seeking the right consistency

to entice them to burrow.

And I think of you

labouring in that over-pollinated garden

constructing in your imagination

your own retreat – a cool, dank spot

smelling of eucalypt and petrichor –

where you could seal yourself up

with your unfertilised thoughts, and just

sleep away the mind’s dark winter.

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