The Apiary

by t.m. thomson

Such a twilight—sky a sheet of grey

backdrop for a dim sun after a day of rain.


Apple trees twist & tilt & stretch their serrated leaves

as they oversee moss & fescue     lemon balm


& black-eyed Susan    milkweed & mint

& the hollowed beech trunks


on which rest beehives in rough boxes.  Inside each hive

as evening folds over landscape


workers still pace with black-armored legs    busy themselves

with one task or another between combs glowing


like amber lanterns & filled with honey & pollen

& the next generation—thick & pearl & mute & blind.


When night takes over terrain—a sweep of ebony

opaled with stars—all that remains


is a rough Stonehenge rising from ivy & rotted trees

& livened by the velvet murmurs


of apiary druids in their auric finery

as they pray with glass-paneled wings.

t.m. thomson’s work has been featured in several journals, including Wild Age Press, These Fragile Lilacs, and Borrowed Solace, most recently appearing in The Roanoke Review and Camas. Her poetry will be featured in upcoming issues of The Blue Ash Review and Jelly Bucket. Three of her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Awards: “Seahorse and Moon” in 2005, “I Walked Out in January” in 2016, and “Strum and Lull” in 2018. She has co-authored Frame and Mount the Sky, a chapbook of ekphrastic poetry (2017) and is author of Strum and Lull (2019) and The Profusion (2019). She has a writer’s page at When she’s not writing, she can be found communing with cats, playing in mud, or spinning.

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