Poems by Erica Goss

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Ghost Hive

After colony collapse disorder surfaced around 2005, the losses approached one-third of all bees, despite beekeepersí best efforts to ensure their health. - NY Times, 3/28/13

by Erica Goss

From Canary Summer 2015

Erica lives less than a mile from the Los Gatos Creek, home to a variety of migratory waterfowl and a former homeless encampment.

If they were dead
we could understand it:

compound eyes gone flat
abdomens dry and crisp

but they vanished
like the pictures I made as a child

like my imaginary friends
like my father – gone,

as if there was nothing
left between us – gone,

like sweetness
fading from the mouth

leaving us with nothing to mourn
and no one to punish –

we clean the hive
again.




My Daily Crows

by Erica Goss

From Canary Fall 2015

Their peppercorn voices,
their constant

need to talk: how quickly
they track my habits,
flying in and out

of my thoughts. Corvus,
jackdaws, ravens,
fishers, mathematicians,

athletes, schemers, scavengers.
I know they’re watching me.
They cross the street at my heels.

My food makes them smart.
I change things – they adapt.
Counterstrategy is the game.

I feel their wings in my hair.
They are the future:
the dark energy of my dormant faith,

my black sons and daughters.


Previously published at Escape Into Life



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