Not All Hexagons are Honeycombs But All Honeycombs are Hexagonal
Because I was dreaming the room I was in, in the fringe of waking I couldn’t tell what was dreamroom from what was wood & nail, glass & air. I bolted upright in bed after having been dormant for half a century.
If you’re not losing sleep over the irregular patterns of the nightmare- catchers the Chernobyl spiders are weaving, you probably should be. The sun is to blame. Or the ice receding, revealing the missing.
A girl vanishes into thin air & her sister says she’s been raptured. Sometimes I can’t explain why something happens so I hypothesize. Because the candy-factory workers complained about the buzzing dumpsters,
the apiarists discovered the grids of blue & green honey. The fruit is the brainchild of the seed. Elsewhere it sleeted diamonds & a funnel cloud, like an apocalyptic swarm, leveled
the town back into sacred geometry. It’d been a cold winter without sugary waste.
-- Flower Conroy is the author of Facts About Snakes & Hearts, winner of Heavy Feather Press’ Chapbook Contest; The Awful Suicidal Swans; and Escape to Nowhere. She is the current Poet Laureate of Key West and a scholarship recipient of Bread Loaf, Squaw Valley, Napa Valley and the Key West Literary Seminar. Her poetry has appeared/is forthcoming in American Literary Review, Prairie Schooner, Gargoyle and others.