Yes, I slept through the alarm. 
All that summer, a solitary honey bee 
hovered over the scented geranium. One bee 
flying. It may have been one single bee 
all that summer. Yes, I slept through all alarms. 
Morning voices schooled in non-alarm 

inform: of schoolyard shootings, of the bombings of certain 
far-off cities; of the tallies of the dead from a certain 
virus; of the imminent extinction of certain 
insects; of the risings of ocean waters; of the certain-
ty, or not, of rain in the forecast. Certain 
tests forecast the presence or the absence of certain 
tumors within my breast. 

On screens, the daily tremblings of the Dow Jones; 
on pavement, the trembling of the wingless drones. 

All that summer long, all our doors 
opened onto pavement; at certain doors, 
one noticed clay pots; 
neighbors up and down the pavement, their pots, 
that bee, our pelargoniums—
a few pelargoniums. 

Drinking pools for bees—
do you know of these? 
Bowls, fruit, water; 
bowls, pebbles, water. 

I’d like to say that I drove east, drove north, 
collected wingless drones in padded boxes, 
brought them home to hive. 
If only I could say that west and south 
I sent my minions, each one rescued millions, 
brought them home to hive. 

Instead I say (of this you may be certain): 
I cosseted one bee, bought it lavender 
and other provender. 
Of one thing I am certain: 
this year, I see seven. Of that, only 
am I certain. 

Diane Lee Moomey

is a watercolorist and poet living in Half Moon Bay, California, where she is co-host of the monthly series Coastside Poetry; her work has appeared in Light, Think, The MacGuffin, Mezzo Cammin, and others. Her newest poetry collection, Make For Higher Ground, is available on Amazon and at Barefoot Muse Press.

Artist’s website: https://dianeleemoomeyart.com/poetry-portal