Of my mind keeps me awake, 

the numbers are melting  

from the clock and  

my body is restless.  

Honeybees can flap their 

tiny wings 200 times a minute.  

Pacing doesn’t help 

still my thoughts, 

my hands are restless. 

I pick at hangnails  

and chipped blue  

polish that’s called 

Chill-Out. The worker bee  

hums around the hostas  

and daylilies, ready to collect 

their pollen. The dread tickles  

up my neck and sits there.  

I tug at my ear until it’s sore,  

I don’t wear earrings anymore.  

The bee returns to her hive, tired  

and hungry, to 20,000  

restless buzzing bodies.  

I take deep breaths and  

think about how my calendar  

still says November, how I have to  

pick up my prescription, take the  

dog to the vet, do that paper on  

the impact of climate change  

on honeybees, get a gallon of milk,  

pay my tuition, pay my car payment, 

drink more water, 

take another deep breath. 

My fingers tap out a restless pattern 

and I reach for my phone.  

The first video I see is  

a queen ripping apart a male drone.