BEES IN THE CHERRY ORCHARD

by Nancy Scott McBride

As soon as the blossoms open fully,
the bees come to gather the precious pollen.
They’re all business, the bees,
working the trees from dawn to dusk
until the petals fade and fall.
Time was, when my ears were in better shape,
I could hear the buzzing from the back porch,
fifteen or twenty feet away.
Now I wait for traffic noise to slow on the road,
then walk out, stand under the nearest tree and
let the sound envelope and invade me,
not so much hearing as feeling it.
It comes inside me and takes me over,
the ecstasy of creatures doing the one single
thing they were born to do. And in this way
the yearly ritual becomes a part of me.
I am the singing and the song,
the humming and the honey.

Martha’s Vineyard

by Nancy Scott McBride

This land, too,
once belonged to Indians.
I know, because some of the
places have Indian names
and in Menemsha, there’s a
shop that sells beads and
feathers.

LINES

by Nancy Scott McBride

dead of night
awakened by the silence of
snow falling

OVER AND OUT

by Nancy Scott McBride

Better than we
cell phones know

communication between us
is down.

We punch in numbers and are
sent straight to voice-mail.

We're on the road and
don't pick up or

we're in the shower and
cannot hear.

Machines receive our calls/cries and
record our sad/mad messages.

Our ears/hearts are not in service at this
crucial time or

have been temporarily
dis   connected.

Lines

by Nancy Scott McBride

raising our cabin-
under the stacks of lumber
mice building their nest