This morning

like so many others
my head feels like a plastic bag
with a bee in it
a sad sack of air
with a buzzing danger
bouncing around in it
in another context
in the open air,
or perhaps, gifted a flower
the buzzing would be beautiful,
become a gift itself,
be the thing that keeps the world spinning,
be somehow sweet and life giving

but this morning
like so many others
the bag holds that sweet creature back
wings beat out a rhythm
of I’m trapped I’m trapped I’m trapped
gifts are not able to pass
through this delicate grey membrane
the temptation to fight
use the sting to escape
use our dying breath
for one moment of freedom

But now I see a different kind of bee
remember that bees can walk
as well as fly
that I could maybe have a nibble
at the knot of plastic handles
take a nap inside the bag
then set my new dreams on their way
the trap unwrapped
and me, the gift of a bee
buzzing