eternal food

by Macy Grace Smolsky
I   have   worn  a   honeycomb   ring   on   my  right
ring     finger     for     three     years     now.     Last
Monday,  a   bee   left   his  stinger   in  that  spot.
The    bee   dizzied   down,     not   to    fly   again.   I
whispered,    “I’m  so   sorry,”   and   my  eyes   got
wet.     A     Google     search     incriminated     my
floral    print.   I    passed    four    dead   raccoons,
three      dead      opossums,      and      one      dead
squirrel    on    the    way    home,    apologizing    to
each    one.   Honey,   inhospitable     to    negative
energies,     is     the     only     eternal      food.     In
Mesopotamia,   it   was   used   to  protect  burns
and   cuts   from   further  infection.  When   men
shout  in   the   street,  I   whisper,  “I’m  so  sorry
this   is   happening   to   you,”   into   my   sister’s
ear.  On  another   night,   I  feed   an   apology  to
a   man   who    has   followed   me   home.   I   feed
another    before   jumping   into    a   cab   to   get
away.   I    never    empty   of   it. I   have   a   friend
who   smells   like   yellowy   sugar.   She  has  told
me    that    it    takes   years   to    unlearn    these
things.   Sarah     lives   by    Nietzsche:   What   do
you regard  as most humane? To spare someone
shame.   I   leave   her   kitchen   at  12:43   AM   to
read   on   the   train.  I   realize   I’ve   memorized
Whitman    wrong.    “I     carry    multitudes,”     he
                                                       never wrote.