Bee
By Victoria Brown
There is a blinding white stucco house
With a burning terracotta roof
Growing out the side of a desert mountain
At 4708 East Saguaro Place
There, you can hear her singing from almost any room
With lofted cheekbones that catch the light and
An accent you can’t quite place
Skin like foamed milk moonlight or iridescent pearl
Sharp eyebrows, elegant shoulders cut like mine
Pitch black hair that falls into perfect spirals
Emerging from the deli like it was her boudoir
In layers of cream and false eyelashes
On a warm summer night
She found her mother with her face pressed into the floor
Her eyes wide like two storming oceans
Her father’s headlights traced the living room
I know this day like I know how to wait for sunrise
Like I know the dust that settles into the cracks of my floor
The men I love will always leave me
She moved like the wind carried her on the back of an aria
Swaying gently in a floral kaftan in the kitchen
Tracing notes of Tosca through the hot desert air
Her voice overflowing, matzah frying on the stove top
Her and I, we share arms that wrap your sadness in presence
That beam you into a better place
About the Author
Victoria is a Brooklyn based poet from Arizona. You can find more of her writings on instagram @gatherhere_.