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Showing posts with label Ralph James Savarese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ralph James Savarese. Show all posts

Sunday, August 02, 2020

TWO DEGREES

by Ralph James Savarese


Murder hornet photo tweeted by @Elvis_Trump

                                                                                           
Let us now praise the Japanese honey bee, Apis cerana,
which alone cannot defeat the much larger

and more vicious “murder hornet,” Vespa mandarinia.
Just one or two of the latter can destroy an entire hive,

moving in like winged, up-armored Cossacks.
After decapitating the honey-makers, they stuff

their yellowish-orange mouths with larvae and pupa.
Yet a miracle, not so much on ice as in the oven,

sometimes occurs. The honey-makers practice a technique
called “bee-balling,” which involves swarming

their attacker and collectively cooking it alive.
The bees move their flight muscles to generate heat;

they can withstand temperatures two degrees higher
than the hornet…. How about we try this with that predator

in the White House? Surround him with human warmth;
kindle him, you might say, with kindness? Of course,

the American honey bee hasn’t yet developed such a defense,
perhaps because it’s insufficiently eusocial and maybe

even indifferent to the fate of the hive. (“I’m not gonna
wear a mask, and there’s nothing you can do to make me!”)

As the seas rise and infection marauds the planet,
can you not hear the soft buzzing of wings, the earth balling

to save itself?


Ralph James Savarese is the author of two books of prose, Reasonable People and See It Feelingly, and one collection of poetry, Republican Fathers, due out in October.

Tuesday, July 07, 2020

WHAT IS THE AIR?

by Ralph James Savarese


Source: The New York Times archive


An elderly person said, “What is the air?” gasping as much
     with her arms as with her lungs.
How could I answer this woman? I do not know what it is
     any more than she.

I guess it must be a mother feeding her babes little morsels
     of oxygen. A clear, blue bib.

Or I guess it’s the wind taking a nap, the clouds a comforter
     letting dreams rain down.

Or I guess the air is itself an elderly person, death’s new
     confidante. What has it heard?

Or maybe it’s a commuter on the breathing Tube. (The rasping
     sounds like medieval German.)
“Stand away from the doors.”

Stand away from each other! The virus is sprouting in broad
     zones and narrow zones, growing among black folks
     as among white (more among black folks).
“I give them the same, I receive them the same,” a super-
     spreader says.

Perhaps the air is a bathhouse for lungs. All the panting they
     could want!
The Right once denounced promiscuous mingling yet now
     promiscuously mingles itself.

The air, madam, is an unregistered weapon. In America
     everyone carries.


Ralph James Savarese is the author of two books of prose, Reasonable People and See It Feelingly, and one collection of poetry, Republican Fathers, due out in October.