The honey bee is still working.
As I sit on this small patch of grass
Beside the paved street, behind the steel fence,
In front of the concrete apartment building
A honey bee makes the rounds
In the small yellow flowers
At my feet. She goes over each one twice,
And in order, four flowers, circling clockwise
She does her job thoroughly, and
With enthusiasm, her small brown body
Bobbing up and down with her hum.
As I sit, to stay safe, as the human working world
Grinds to a halt—
While institutions spinning on the same
Stale foundations for decades
Come crashing down at the suddenness of it all—
The honey bee, with her singular focus, works.
I see more of them now, all over the grass,
Their heads bathed in bright yellow,
Their world, unshaken—
Their underlying mission
Moving in present time,
Undisturbed, and constant,
And without judgement.