On becoming a bee
Choosing when was difficult. What time of year?
Winter could get me five months or so, if you were lucky enough
to make the cut, to be spent mostly in the hive. Bee Hygge?
Honey-scented? I’m over romanticising. It’ll be clustered
together for warmth. And besides, these bees aren’t Danish.
Spring to summer might be best, a six-week stretch,
but I’ll pray for decent weather. I’m reliably informed
I can go in at cleaner level – (accreditation for prior learning they called it).
My children wanted to know – Why?
Children always do – especially when full-grown.
Why? Because my job here’s done. You don’t need me now.
I tell my children I have to work my way up before I get outside.
Cleaning, nursing, building, guarding – “Oh you’ve done all that already.”
I know, (but marvel how they do actually remember this)
“You’re old enough to do it for yourselves.”
They’re not impressed. “I’ll always be your mother…”
Of course I’d let them watch the process of me becoming bee.
God only knows they’ve seen the worst of me already and besides
they need the closure.
Will it hurt? What will happen? What will you do?
They’re still asking the “why?” My heart buzzes.
They look unsure.
“When I do get out…” “You’ll look for us?”
“Yes…” they’re happier now. “What else will you do?”
“Oh…I’ll have to learn to shit mid-air. They both thought this funny
especially when I told them I’d get on-the-job training.
So the day came. We went into the garden. Yes, the sun was out,
a warm mid-spring day. I wouldn’t see the sun for a while.
“Here’s where I turn myself inside-out.”
I pause for effect, and to lighten the moment.
“ and I officially become hard-arsed.”
A dandelion clock rolls between us.
“Mum…” My daughter’s hand holds mine.
My son catches the clock.
Jenny Hope is a writer, poet and workshop facilitator. She lives on top of a hill in wildish-Worcestershire. Her websites are www.jennyhope.co.uk and www.poetrymaker.co.uk