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From Rebecca Hazelton:

December 12, 2017

All the dark honey from a winter garden sags in heavy combs, and the buzz
begins, back where the hand fumbles in the dark, barely
clear of the bees, the soft fur and the clicking black: divided sex,
divided tasks, the guarded and the guards. The hand exchanges cells, new
edges to wax and sweet, and then the hasty withdrawal. This leitmotiv
for saving, spending, thievery. Every summer the same tableau:
good honey spilling from the burst comb, split figs on the plate, another harvest
has ended. Give us this day our daily. Give us the rational methods.

Both Sides


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