To the Young Woman With the Bee in Her Hand
By: Chris Bevens
for Hannah
We rode the light rail to SeaTac
leaning and alert, trying to catch a glimpse of Rainier;
traveling through the land of the Duwamish rightly,
to the airport,
to see you off.
Together, facing the center aisle,
bags at your feet; you, cool and beautiful in the reflection across,
reminding me of dreams and visions and
other reflections
entirely.
About your age, a young woman
stood next to the doors, two doors that would part, eventually.
Soon even. Two doors bely a hole through which we all will go,
where this other young woman currently stood. She held the bar above her head,
bracing herself against the forward motion
of the light rail we took
to see you off.
A bee,
apidae, bombus, bumble bee, down the main aisle and back it flew,
dithering, buzz and bounce against the window. Buzzbzzz. The plump fuzzbee
aimed straight for the young woman by the door, and she saw it coming,
we all saw it coming
Her arm’s reach, her free hand, palm up, whereupon the bee set down, where it landed,
softly, gently.
As if planned,
the train stopped, two doors parted, a place replaced with space
through which the young woman reached, palm up, reached just out the door,
an offering to the Tukwila station. Gone, out into the trackside breeze,
the bee. Doors close. Two stops prior to yours,
the train that much lighter, taking us
to the airport,
to see you off.
Chris Bevens lives in Seattle, writing poems, stories and songs, while managing a two-cat garden. He has an MFA from the Naropa Insti-tute, and he’s currently spreading his latest chapbook, Ninja Will Eat Me, among the little free libraries of Seattle’s Central District. Read more from Chris at pedalpoet.com.