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Poem

They're getting older,
five brothers and sisters,
all with degrees, jobs, families, 
nice homes, good lives, happier 
than most except when they must 
fly to the home of their childhood 
and settle their mother's estate.

They gather in the old stucco 
none of them is willing to sell. 
They drink bourbon and scotch 
and tell each other everything again
that happened when they were young, 
what made them take planes anywhere
trying to escape and forget. 

A few more drinks and they see the bees 
swarming the day Mom knocked the hive 
out of the willow with her clothesline pole.
They were young, not yet in school, 
happy and laughing, clapping but not 
understanding why Father was gone, 
why he would call but never come home.

All summer they rode tricycles 
into each other, yelling and screaming, 
ringing the bells on the handlebars,
trying to figure out what had happened.

Another few drinks and they agree 
it's time to go out in the yard and look up 
in the tree where the hive used to be. 
Once again they hear children
yelling and screaming, 
riding into each other, ringing bells, 
looking everywhere for answers, 
not knowing the questions.

In minutes they realize the reunion's over
and there may never be another.
It's time to pack, get on planes, escape
before someone puts a match to the stucco.
The hive's on the ground bouncing 
and they're all bees, swarming again.


Donal Mahoney

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