Tell me again why babies can’t have honey,I’ll wait to chew on my confinement.Or perhaps I should savor my confinement,roll it in my palm like mercury.Spent roses wanting vivid. Like mercurydeposits in cinnabar, poison.Vermilion roses once gathered bees. Poisonis only one way to kill a tree.Poisoned with leisure, I stare out at the tree.I’m wrapped with roses and dwelled with bees.Bee hunger is boundless, even to death. Bewarned and sly, my roots can be fatal.Smoked rooms, foxed mirrors, forgetting is fatal.This is why babies can’t have honey.
Jacqueline Hughes Simon attended the Napa Valley Writers’ Conference and The Community of Writers’ Writing Conference on numerous occasions. She received her Master of Fine Arts in poetry from Saint Mary’s College of California. Jacqueline is a volunteer and board member of an environmental education nonprofit, where she works with and trains donkeys.