The Bee's Knees

by angeliska on May 11, 2006

It feels like it has been forever and a day
but you look up from the heap of tasks
and suddenly the trees are wreathed in
thick vines and spring has tangled
her pale green fingers
in the hem of your dress
and beckons you come outside..

The Venus Flytrap made a lovely blossom.

I’ve been planting like mad in my new bee shoes..
So far I’ve got
❦ Vodka Cocktail Begonias
❦ Also some mysterious fancy furry/hairy
ones but I don’t know their names yet..
❦ Love-in-a-Mist
❦ Purple Dragon Basil
❦ Rue
❦ Tricolour Potato Vine
❦ Wormwood
❦ Jasmine
❦ Honeysuckle
The last three all come from cuttings, la!

Violette’s birthday was celebrated in fine style with fancy gateaux..

Bee cake and orchid cake! The bees are marzipan with almond sliver wings!

Sidral Mundet’s divine apple soda for Eastertime
(O egg goddess, pink bodice!)

Hairpins, a moon-moth necklace I made, and favorite Granny Krampus candydish.

For Oren’s birthday, I made him a Saint Hunter S. Thompson portable shrine.
He gifted me at the same time with The Curse of Lono, which makes me
stay up far too late cackling hysterically and trying not to get soup on it.
So, in honor of the fact that possibly as soon as tomorrow,
we may be proud home-owners (no, but for serious-
it’s really happening! Ho-leeeeee chit!)
we bought us some real furniture-
a loveseat and two chairs from the 1800’s
(for 300 dollars no less, bless you craigslist)
Rusty Jacknife has adopted them as his own
personal domain. There oughta be a law..

(against cuteness this extreme)
Now my neighbor is threatening to
set traps and harm my kitty somehow
if he finds one more dead birdie in his yard.

Is this the face of a hardened killer?
Oh, and here’s the horrid dream
that I had all because I looked at this:
Portent of Doom!
I am in the back of a taxi cab with a dusky boy
and girl who have recently become parents.
They are taking their infant daughter home from the hospital,
and laughingly ask me if I’d like to hold her.
As the tiny bundle is turned away from breast
and into my arms I see that she is anencephalic
(Because anencephaly is not compatible with life,
medical termination of pregnancy is common.)

She was born with no brain.
Her skull a flat nothing, forehead ending right over
her bulging, rheumy eyes.
Her arms are too long and wiggly,
small paddle-shaped hands fiddling in my hair.
She gurgles and groans, but is an empty shell-
no spark of self-hood, of soul dwells within her.
She is a terrible error, a mistake,
a complete biological failure.
I think it would be better if they had killed her at birth.
Her mother and father, mere children themselves-
(and possibly siblings now that I look at them closely)
find their stunted monster-baby to be
the funniest thing they have ever seen.
I am so horrified that I make my mind transform
this wrong baby into clay that I mold into
a hello kitty geisha doll which I place on
a shelf with other dolls and trees made of eyes.
I wake up gagging, throat full of sand.

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