He lights a citrus candle
as wasps circle
inside her belly.
Relax, he says,
as Coltrane fills the room.
A coned papery nest
attached to her childhood home.
They won’t sting,
the man told her mother,
unless provoked.
He traces her breast
and they spiral upward,
serenading their queen,
their medley rumbling
deep inside her throat.
At once the saxophone
lifts her high above the bed.
She joins a brown spider
watching safely
inside its web.
Thighs like lilies
empty of pollen.
Her ears buzz
as the queen escapes
from her open mouth.
The stingers sear
his surprised face
as drops of venom
fall onto her parched lips
like a prayer.
Poem by Phyllis Ritner
Image by Adam Strong
Phyllis Rittner writes poetry, flash fiction and creative non-fiction. Her work can be found in Wrong Turn Lit, Burnt Breakfast, Roi Faineant Press, Paper Dragon, Versification, Fairfield Scribes, Sparks of Calliope, Gyroscope Review and others. She is the winner of the Grub Street Free Press Fiction Contest and a member of The Charles River Writing Collective. She can be reached on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/phyllis.rittner
Backwards Trajectory 