You catch more flies with honey
than with vinegar—
And Honey, she tastes
like nectar. She’s a soft white
bloom with no patience
for honeybees. She craves
the beetles. She craves
the spiders. She craves the ants too
small to notice, the low-life
terrestrial insects lurking in
swampy muck who can’t resist
her hidden center, fleshy
and pink. She’s dying
out. No longer wild but
cultivated for the enjoyment of a swarm
of little boys who like to force themselves into
her mouth, to trick her into snapping
at their sticky fingers. It’s happened one
too many times. She's tired, ready
to burn it all and grow
back from the ashes
of herself. She's ready to bite
back at the boys with their honeyed words.
It’s no wonder they named a carnivorous flower
after the goddess of love:
the daughter of Dione,
ready to consume the moment
anyone gets too close.
As published in the Fall 2020 Issue of Ramifications Art & Literary Magazine
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