Greeting

Her mouth filled with honey
Left by countless bees.
Hydrangeas in her hair, bruise-blue,
Darker than they should be.
Darker than the muddy light can account for.
With her jagged fingernails she carves
A set of instructions into the soft wood of the
Table before her, a tiny shudder rippling through
Her shoulders, dying before the writing
Can be disturbed.
The flutter of wings outside
Heard through the cracked window
Tell her to hurry, and hurry she does.
The instructions finished, she tastes the honey
For the first time, her jaw aching as she
Opens the door to greet the wings.