Also, The Bees.

by M. Forajter

sarah i am an
unremarkable
woman a
honey-drudger
like the rest
there is no
room in my
belly for
anything
extraordinary
no opal wings
languages
combs i am the
poet the jam-
maker i have
no time no
words there is
nothing left to
wring from the
clock sarah
what happens
when we turn
thirty i feel it
coming i never
imagined
anything after i
feel like that’s
when women
start sweeping
start watching
their waist lines
start becoming
bees.

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