The Girl with Bees in her Hair stands fast beside the old house in the poem by somebody else...black hair, tangles of it...heavy necklace at her heart--how she shakes the bees free and moves out of the frame, this is the trick I want to learn above all others. How to walk away and leave the swarming behind.
I am the girl with bees in her mouth--even my breath can hurt someone...the gold and darkness between my teeth. They know the queen when they see her, so they hum in the air around me. The girl who doesn't know the poison of her stung lips, her black heart. So this must be my role to play. Every fairytale has a villain, a hero...my piercing words ensure my place in this lifetime.
I am the girl with bees in her bones...it is forever. I cannot toss my black tangles like she can and be rid of them. They live for me...honeycomb wedged in the marrow of my ribs. I am older now--my eyes have gone to shadow and I see what the photographer overlooks. I am scarred and alive. I break bones and bleed bees into the humid air.
From a distance, innocent enough. Innocent as the bee-haired girl...In your eyes, I am honey. My mouth, so sweet your teeth ache...even the dangerous droning lulls, at a distance.

©C. Delia Scarpitti 2005

Inspired by "The Girl with Bees in her Hair" by Eleanor Rand Wilner