The Beekeeper and His Promiscuous Wife

By Travis Dolence

 

Tonight, I drink on the recommendation

of ten thousand voices that know me,

that see me

 

for who I am, settled deeply into the

geometry of life, small migrations,

patterns of sleep.

 

Best not to cry for loss, keep moving

forward, they say, fly forward to the next

sun torn blossom laid bare to touch.

 

Shadows of branches hold no

rest for us, they say, the material

world is all we need.

 

I hold my mouth to the landing board

and speak to the nucleus

speak in a clear hive voice

 

I wait for answers cast in the lost

wax process, gold and black,

clear and constant warm voices.

 

Travis Dolence is a  librarian and MFA candidate at  Minnesota State University Moorhead, where he composes poetry when he’s not answering reference questions. His work has appeared in the chapbook The Lyrical Librarian: Verses from the Stacks, published by Consortium. Travis has taken the University of Minnesota’s excellent beekeeping course – taught by the bee expert Marla Spivak. Growing up, Travis would accompany his grandfather while he tended his hive. He hopes to pass on this experience to his three children.

Travis is currently in the early stages of compiling his poems for his thesis. In addition, he is working on a young adult verse novel set in Northern Minnesota and loosely based on Eastern European folk tales.