A Wasp’s Nest
All day she’s busy in the bell
that hangs by the door, an
antique
from a sea-buoy, cast in brass.
We rarely ring it, living alone
with no one to call from the
fields,
so it’s fine that she’s chosen
to build at the heart of that
silence.
All day she flies from
somewhere,
up into the darkness and away,
abdomen glistening, heavy with
eggs,
black legs trailing out like
streamers.
As she fashions her palace,
tower by tower, all paper and
paste,
her hot whine teases a note
from the bell, clear and
haunting,
guiding us on through the
narrows
and into the generations.
Ted Kooser
Kooser, Ted. “A Wasp’s Nest.” Splitting
an Order. Port Townsend, Washington: Copper Canyon Press, 2014. p.49.
