for Kelsey
by Daniel Barry
I made a friend this morning in the tomato tunnels.
she wedged onto my shirt for a while
and joined me for a walk.
bee of body.
boldly made body,
small body
which does the impossible
in flying.
this is a poem about one bee.
there weren’t any other bees.
she was a cute bee.
she was a she,
a worker bee.
I tried it — to pet her,
I could feel her soft buzzing,
and I knew she enjoyed it,
jutting her tongue in slow motions
which you now know bees have.
she gave her bee consent,
out of her own bee free will,
to stay inside my jacket, on my shirt, for an hour or two,
until I placed her on a lavender flower.
and she nestled in out of sheer delight and gratitude.
a flower the size of a home.
a marvelous thing.
Children gravitate towards Daniel Barry, because he knows how to play like one. He keeps a dream journal and has an unreasonable love for figs and is currently loving his work as a campus safety officer at Ursinus College. On Instagram, he reads poems to trees. @poemsfortrees
photo credit: Kelsey Brown, Unsplash