Lullaby
Our son hears bees in his bedroom, says they buzz
from under the closet door. Insists, without
knowing what the word means,
that they swarm. I get a warm sting in my chest when
he tries out words he only half understands.
His eyes search, what happens now—
worry, relief? Or will he get stung. If I’m honest,
I’ll tell our son I know buzzing too
and not just at night.
Decibels that won’t stop asking what if or did I?
I’ll tell him don’t freeze in the hiss
of not enough. But find
hope. Even in the faintest vibration. At some
picnic, years from now, when he steps
on a bee.
Despite his foot swelling like a melon and pain
shooting up his leg— he’ll find his own
tiny wings and fly with the swarm.
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Seth Rosenbloom is a poet and a consultant to companies on leadership. His poems have recently appeared in Poetry Northwest, Tupelo Quarterly, Orange Blossom Review and other publications. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and been a finalist for the Tom Howard/Margaret Reid Poetry Prize. Seth was born in Washington, D.C., and he lives in Seattle. instagram seth.rosenbloom | twitter @sethrosenbloom
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 