Buzz Bees

The bees spoke kindly to the flowers,
said, We make you what you are.
They hummed their lessons over petals,
calling control a form of care.

So sounded supper at our table—
words arranged like silverware.
Advice that dressed itself as love,
and asked us to sit straighter there.

A bee circled close, all gold and sure,
its voice convinced it knew me best.
I stood like bloom beneath instruction,
learning stillness meant success.

I closed my hands around the buzzing,
as children do when told to trust.
And like my father—firm, exact—
the sting arrived, disguised as must.

No wound appeared. No mark was made.
Just daughters taught to stand composed—
believing every ache that bloomed
was proof of how well we were grown.

— Casey Huang
2015