Sylvia, there is no square baby inside the box

The box is in a feverish state

a Japanese opera  inside

 

hustle and bustle

 

forty thousand  black

heart shaped faces

 

Noh and navigation dance

 

*

 

You watched  him plant the hive  

down by the parsley patch

 

something of the solid weight

the heft of a  child

 

crouched in your garden    

howl and wail

 

*

 

Put your ear to the hive  

they have got rid of the men

 

the furniture, the windows

In the golden chambers  

 

Sylvia      Sylvia

the honey has gone to your head

 

 

 

Note: This poem is a response to Sylvia Plath’s ‘ The arrival of the bee box.’