The Part of the Bee's Body Embedded in the Flesh
The bee-boy, merops apiaster, on sultry thundery days filled his bosom between his coarse shirt and his skin with bees—his every meal wild honey. He had no apprehension of their stings or didn't mind and gave himself—his palate, the soft tissues of his throat— what Rubens gave to the sun's illumination stealing his fingers across a woman's thigh and Van Gogh's brushwork heightened. Whatever it means, why not say it hurts— the mind's raw, gold coiling whirled against air currents, want, beauty? I will say beauty.
From I Will Say Beauty by Carol Frost. Copyright © 2003 by Carol Frost. Reprinted by permission of TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.