The Part of the Bee's Body Embedded in the Flesh

(At the seaside this week I read this poem by the wonderful Carol Frost. It is published in her book, I Will Say Beauty, by Triquarterly Books/Northwestern.)

The bee-boy, merops apiaster, on sultry thundery days
filled his bosom between his course shirt and his skin
with bees-his every meal wild honey.
He had no apprehension of their stings or didn't mind
and gave himself-his palate, the soft tissue of his throat-
what Rubens gave to the sun's illumination
stealing like fingers across a woman's thigh
and van Gogh's brushwork heightened.
Whatever it means, why not say it hurts-
the mind's raw, gold coiling whirled against
air currents, want, and beauty? I will say beauty.

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