New Life with Bees and Fire
“Woman gives birth, fights off bees, starts wildfire in Northern California”
My mother’s head was wreathed in nonsense.
My mother’s head was wreathed in the shadows of owls
And sometimes in stars, a million winks around her.
My mother’s head was wreathed in sweat, in tears.
My mother’s head was wreathed in bees.
Their buzzing was the second language I learned.
My mother’s head hung low when she slept.
My mother’s head was wreathed in regret.
She whispered in the night, no phone, no water, four apples to eat,
Stupid short-cut through the woods, over the river
And through the woods to grandmother’s house, she sang
And she whispered. Her head hung low when she slept.
Her breathing was the first language I’d learned.
My mother’s head was wreathed in apple-breath.
My mother’s head was wreathed in daylight then moonlight.
My mother’s head was beautiful and terrible in sorrow.
My mother’s head was close to mine, close to mine,
Her breath was warm and soft and apple-riddled.
My mother’s head was wreathed in daylight again and again.
My mother’s head was filled with get-away plans:
Walk out, float out, fly out on the wings of owls.
My mother’s head was wreathed in nonsense, in tears.
My mother’s head was wreathed in smoke. My mother’s head
was wreathed in smoke and in flames that rushed and crackled.
The fire language was the third language I learned.
My mother’s head close to mine, her lips close to mine,
Breathing and breathing with the smoke all around her.
My mother’s head was wrapped in relief like stars
When the rescuers came. They tamped out the fire,
They took us away from the owls and shadows,
the bees, the flames, the winking stars,
and we began to begin the beginning again.
“Woman gives birth, fights off bees, starts wildfire in Northern California”
My mother’s head was wreathed in nonsense.
My mother’s head was wreathed in the shadows of owls
And sometimes in stars, a million winks around her.
My mother’s head was wreathed in sweat, in tears.
My mother’s head was wreathed in bees.
Their buzzing was the second language I learned.
My mother’s head hung low when she slept.
My mother’s head was wreathed in regret.
She whispered in the night, no phone, no water, four apples to eat,
Stupid short-cut through the woods, over the river
And through the woods to grandmother’s house, she sang
And she whispered. Her head hung low when she slept.
Her breathing was the first language I’d learned.
My mother’s head was wreathed in apple-breath.
My mother’s head was wreathed in daylight then moonlight.
My mother’s head was beautiful and terrible in sorrow.
My mother’s head was close to mine, close to mine,
Her breath was warm and soft and apple-riddled.
My mother’s head was wreathed in daylight again and again.
My mother’s head was filled with get-away plans:
Walk out, float out, fly out on the wings of owls.
My mother’s head was wreathed in nonsense, in tears.
My mother’s head was wreathed in smoke. My mother’s head
was wreathed in smoke and in flames that rushed and crackled.
The fire language was the third language I learned.
My mother’s head close to mine, her lips close to mine,
Breathing and breathing with the smoke all around her.
My mother’s head was wrapped in relief like stars
When the rescuers came. They tamped out the fire,
They took us away from the owls and shadows,
the bees, the flames, the winking stars,
and we began to begin the beginning again.
Gillian Wegener has had poetry published in Clade Song, Homestead Review, The Monterey Bay Review, and Wherewithal. Her chapbook Lifting One Foot, Lifting the Other was published by In the Grove Press in 2001, and her first full-length collection of poetry, The Opposite of Clairvoyance was published in 2008 by Sixteen Rivers Press. She was the 2015 winner of Zocalo Public Square’s Poetry Prize for a poem of place, and the inaugural winner of the Wherewithal Poetry Prize (2015). Wegener hosts the monthly 2nd Tuesday Reading Series in downtown Modesto, is founding president of the Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center, teaches creative writing to girls in juvenile hall, and has served since 2012 as the poet laureate for the City of Modesto.