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Luke Johnson lives on the California coast with his wife and three kids. His poems can be found at Kenyon ReviewFlorida ReviewNarrativeCortland ReviewThrushPaletteNimrod, and elsewhere.


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Luke Johnson
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The Hive


​Son: 

Last night
I watched you steal a cig
and light it on the stove. 

You slipped outside 
to weave the smoke 
and set it, flaring,

in a hive of bees, 
to smother them softly 
to sleep. First, 

the workers 
then the guardians, 
then the queen

the last to quit, withered
into the wind. 
I yelled, 

but you would 
not heed me, threw stones
but you did not care. You, who 

thrashed 
with knuckled fit, fought
hard to stay with womb, 

what called to you there? 
What carried off 
into the amethystine mist, 

wooing 
you out for its pleasure? 





​Image by Vivek Doshi on Unsplash                                                                                                      
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