Naval gazing? So passé.
The Me Generation? Over.
That find-your-passion frenzy—
so yesterday. There’s a lifting
of vision now, a looking around
even for those
who hadn’t noticed
that outsized selfishness is dead.
Today there’s a tending to hives
but it’s not just bees, hives
and wax that buzz. Heads on our shoulders
are turning slow motion-like.
Thoughts hum. It’s making sense:
the rain, the breeze, the scent
of nectar flowers, reciprocity: the active
creative individual collective world
on the way to healing—
Source: Sisyphus, Issue 9.1: The Hope Issue. Hip Pocket Press. “What Injures the Hive, Injures the Bee,” by Gwendolyn Soper
Voetica, Berkeley-based site dedicated to spoken poetry. To hear the author read this poem, click here.