On a string
tied to Lori’s wrist
a bee flies
taut circles.
She winces
from the sting
of critiques
and cast stones.
Those bible thumpers
see only Lori’s placid mask,
not the new hurt
layered upon the old.
She refuses to let her injuries
become her heart.
She fears
the bruised flame’s blue heat.
That evening
Lori frees the bee
and ties her string
to the north star.
Each night thereafter,
the dead locate Lori
and follow the hemp lead
to the heavens.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 