By Pura López-Colomé
Translated by Forrest Gander
Two bumblebees
extract nectar,
sweet and bitter
from the center
of the rose-colored petals
of a flower which is not a rose.
Sated,
they thud against the picture window
again and again,
fixed on escaping
with their bounty inside them,
into the air behind them,
incognizant that the path to freedom
has been eclipsed,
incognizant
that they are drawn
to an illusion.
With the blood honey
in their guts
already a part of their
rapturous marrow.
And distinct.
--------
Sunday felt like fall, with temperatures that never broke 70 degrees and that crisp leafy smell in the air. We spent the morning doing chores while Adam had his first day for the semester working at Hebrew school, then picked him up and took him to get his bike pedals repaired. He had a lot of homework to do, so afterward we took him home, then went to Great Falls to walk by the canal and enjoy the weather. It was not a good afternoon for the Redskins so it's just as well we spent little time watching the game...it was not a good afternoon for my teams in general, though the only news that really upset me was that the panda cub at the National Zoo had died.
Rather than stress about the Ravens game, we watched the Emmys, which felt very unremarkable to me, maybe because I didn't care who won. I thought Kimmel was pretty dreadful -- the guests were the only good part -- and though Julianne Moore was terrific in Game Change, and I am sure I am the only person on LiveJournal who was rooting for Clive Owen over Benedict Cumberbatch in a category I was sure Kevin Costner would win, I couldn't have cared whether it was Modern Family again or whether Mad Men got some more excessive hype. The highlight for me was the Stewart-Colbert-Fallon "feud" and Stewart's dropping the F-bomb afterward.
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