Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Final Issue 2018
 
Beekeeper Dream
Eileen Murphy

It’s dinnertime, so I fetch my baby brother. I forget he’s dead. I’m sure I’ll find him fooling around in the groves behind my parents’ house. I come upon him stuffing a plastic baggie into the crotch of an orange tree. He is wearing a beekeeper’s mask, dark green netting draped over his head, face, and shoulders. His back is towards me. “Are you eating dinner with the family?” I ask. He is hunched over so I can’t see his gunshot head clearly. “Oh, no, I've got things to do.” “But it’s Mother’s Day,” I say. “I hate Mother’s Day,” he says. “What’s with the outfit? Do you even know anything about bees?” I ask. He shakes his head. I walk down the street towards my parents’ house when a mile-long black limousine approaches from the opposite direction. I see my brother’s face through the smoky glass of the back window. As the limo purrs past, I wave, scream, try to catch his attention, but nothing. He’s facing forward and never looks out. Soon the limousine is lost in the distance. Where is he going? I cannot say. Not even when I wake up.

About Eileen Murphy

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