This poem is taken from Stand 222, 17(2) May - June 2019.

Kirsty Sangster Three Poems
beehive

Our first time away together and we go to Moliagul,
no secrets country, dry
stripped naked, nowhere to hide
between abandoned mineshafts, diggings
of upturned, overturned timber and clay we came
across a tiny sandstone church, St Michael and All Angels.

A huge beehive like an earthen sea sponge
or lady chapel made of mud, hung

suspended

in the branches of a bare tree
both church
and tree
wintering
closed down
but from the hive, bees flew in and out; a crowded humming
multitude,
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