Green Hills Literary Lantern





A single strand

of bee hair

no one is noticing

is floating away.




Come winter,

they’d freeze, but eat

the honey we’d have

danced onto toast.




Each word in Bee:

a xylophone or zither

zooming variants of

flower, honey, hive.




The queen will kill to be

the one. As the one,

she will give nothing

but life after life.                                            




Hold a field bee.

Smell her legs and every

delicious tree                                      

she helped make love.




A rumba to find

grand flowers.

A flower to write

a rumba about.




Autumn: the drones,

driven from

hives, flying useless

until they die.




To workers, defense

means demise. Lift 

bitter tea to the peace

appearing after war.





Matt Zambito is the author of The Fantastic Congress of Oddities (Cherry Grove Collections), and two chapbooks, Guy Talk and Checks & Balances (Finishing Line Press). Other poems appear in Slice, Painted Bride Quarterly, Virginia Normal, Hiram Poetry Review, and elsewhere.