verse

Hornets

A poem by Christie Isler

Posted: June 19, 2009

Hornets

A hornet, the kind that stings,
rests three boards away
abdomen pulsing like a sexual member,
keeping fluids moving.
A breeze blows - its wings shiver - and everything is still.
Expect the stripped pulse.

I think about times hornets have stung me,
out of malice (or terror).
The results: a finger swollen at the knuckle,
a lip made thick with fluid, like I'd been punched.
And once when the hornet was trapped against me,
I knew not how to let him go.
A hornet, when cornered, can sting like a legion.
The bright pain, is disproportionate to such a tiny terrified insect.

I think, with the palm of my hand, one motion,
I could flatten him.
The sting he might grant me, his last.
He, small and worthless beneath my hand
the pain of venom a vaccination
against feeling powerless before hornets.

I imagine his ruptured abdomen beneath my palm,
the smear of revenge, a gut slick
like the malice in my own ideas.
In the hesitation, he takes flight,
taking revenge of his own,
leaving me to wonder.

Christie Isler -- Christie.isler@gmail.com -- is a teacher in Cascade foothills outside Seattle, Wash. She holds several degrees, none of them in writing, from the University of Washington and continues to take classes on a variety of subjects including writing and dance. She writes both poetry and prose in between teaching and grading.

Spring 2009 Poetry:

RAPPERS AND THEIR GAME by Michael Cromwell
EDITOR'S CHOICE: Three poems by Robert Flanagan
OCCUPATION by Elizabeth Pavlov
ONE BLUE SHOE by Barbara De Franceshi
THE FUNERAL DIRECTOR by Jennifer Juneau
CASH CROP CONCRETE HOLLOW by Dave Migman
THE SWIMMERS by Oskar Hansen
MAUDLIN MOMENTS by Judson Hamilton
HORNETS by Christie Isler
BLACK MAGIC BOXES by John Tortora

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