Everything is ordinary, the rain birds
said, and I believed them, though
the morning breeze had blown
my cat away, and the wasps set up
a circus in the bedroom.
When I voiced a few concerns, they told
me that the wasp show must go on,
and when I hinted at a discount on the door,
they insisted I must pay full price.
And yet I always treat them well—
I buzz a little sweetness in their ears
and avoid comparisons with butterflies.
My cat returned in the afternoon,
all blow-dry hair and jungle eyes,
and the swarm of wasps, who call
themselves Marissa now, are
learning to play the cello.
I know the moths are jealous,
they’re meeting in the wardrobe
to choose themselves a name,
and everything is ordinary.
The Wasp (Marimbondo) is a Brazilian dance, and the Wasp Circus (Circo Marimbondo) is one of my favorite Milton Nascimento songs. It was also a source for my short story The Rising at The Colored Lens.
Six more Sundays