Queen Bee

Over lunch, I listened to the teacher's
story about coming out of a terrible year 
of postpartum depression, and how it led her
to beekeeping. As it is when we are learning 
something new, there were mistakes. In her case, 
she was stung so many times, but each time 
seemed almost a revelation—  the burn and welt, 
the sharp, hot swelling somehow the body's way 
of saying You're still here, you can feel things; 
you haven't turned to stone. In a fairy tale, 
an entire castle's occupants are delivered from 
enchantment when a queen bee helps the quester 
figure out which of three sleeping princesses 
is the youngest— settling on the one whose 
lips were ambered by the last sweet thing 
she ate. You might have heard the sound
of walls stretching, overflowing.