You may work behind the scenes
to gather nectar,
flying about on
twisted bits of spring wind,
buzzing back into the hive
to lay down your sweets,
to relish in the taste
of foreign lands that
you’ve brought back,
to build up a honeycomb
so dripping with stickiness
that you forget your train of flutters.

But allow me to remind you:
I am the queen.
This is MY hive.
And you had better learn your place
before you get trapped
in a honey-drunk euphoria,
my stinger the only bite
you’ll remember when you wake.