The Bee

I went out to my garden this morning and
I brought my pink gardening gloves
I set them down for a moment on the wooden ledge of my deck and
I noticed a slender bee landed on my glove
on closer inspection, I saw his long rust-colored tongue was out
exploring the dirty rubber glove
I posted a video of him
I almost wrote “dumb bee” but
I thought that would be too mean
I noticed another bee
buzzing in the flowers of a nearby tree
the flowers were pink like my glove
so I could understand the first bee’s mistake
still, I posted a video of the second bee
and I wrote
“His smarter friend”
the first bee was still enjoying my gloves
it seemed
so I went about my gardening without them

I came back maybe 20 minutes later
Not seeing the bee but not sure if he was still there
I carefully lifted up my gloves
His limp body rolled out from under them
He wasn’t dead
But he wasn’t well
He could barely walk
I was sure he couldn’t fly
His tongue was hanging out of his mouth uselessly
I wanted to call out to his smarter friend
“What do I do? What is first aid for a bee?
Come help your friend
Tell his parents
He’s not well”
I plucked a pink flower from the tree
Gently, so as to not disturb all the bees therein
And offered it to the sick bee
He didn’t have the strength
Or perhaps the understanding
Or perhaps the desire
to climb on the flower
I offered the soft pad of my fingertip to him
And mind you I am not one to touch bees generally
He flailed his dainty arms and tried to grab hold
I eased him onto my finger and
transferred him onto the soft stringy petals of the flower
His tongue, still out, stiff and unnatural,
like when you blow too much on those paper party horns
and they won’t roll back in,
was not exploring the flower like it did with my glove
I wanted to ask him
“Is this my fault?
Did my glove poison you?
You trusted it
It tricked you
I laughed at you
And now you don’t have the —
whatever —
to drink the nectar and get well.”
I needed him to get well
not for him
but to absolve
me.

I left him there
balanced precariously on the flower
Alive still
his arms moving weakly
His tongue outstretched
I told him
“This is all I can do for you
Maybe you were already sick
when you landed on my glove
Maybe that’s why you thought
it was a flower in the first place.
I’ve done all I can for you.”

So I went inside
Maybe later I’ll go check on him
see if he’s pulled his tongue back in
or maybe even flown away.

But I don’t think he will have
and I don’t want to go see.