A Teaspoon of Honey
Greek yoghurt, cream with attitude, requires
a contrast, marmalade or strawberries –
something with colour, something sweet and sunny,
or tart, with texture. Sensual discord fires
the synapses. My favourite topping is
a teaspoonful of honey.
Of all the insects only bees provide
food humans eat. A dozen bees will take
six weeks (their lifespan) for a ceremony
of harvest, dance, disposal, multiplied
a thousand times – twelve maiden-slaves – to make
one teaspoonful of honey.
Poets are apian, storing bric-a-brac,
bee-alchemists, who turn dust into gold.
We do not value our achievements, money
or honours half as much as this strange knack,
sweet skill, of transformation. Here – behold –
my teaspoonful of honey.