In the garden, I sat very still and asked

hanging garden

will you sting?

‘not very likely’
as she busily bent to her work
cataloging the latin names
of each herb and flower

will you dance?

sniffing she glanced at me
‘each movement I make is dance
and each step will be danced
for my sisters and brothers
to follow the map
of my intricate steps”

will they sing?

with a sigh
‘each breath is a song
sung to ancestral hives
and honeycombed futures
humming hymns
sweet and low’

will you stay?

‘yes, yes is the answer
as long as alfalfa is green
and the almond
blush pink
and the wide world
opens its blossoms
welcoming us to enter”