Bees | by Amee Nassrene Broumand

—Yes, it’s true, the bees here roar. Underground. Especially first thing
in the morning. Especially after dark.

—Yes, we have bees here that moan like the dead. Right creepy, if you
ask me. Would you like to see my collection of false teeth?

—What’s all this [buzzing] about bees? Mind your own [beeswax].

—The roses are roaring again, a favorite trick of theirs before
they splay themselves into nothing & sleep for another year.

—Have I noticed anything strange with the bees around here?
Nope. But the dead here are pretty strange—they think they’re bees.

—Darkening into deeper dark, the bloom, the bloom, the endless
bloom. I start awake—

the languid stink of rotting roses.



Amee Nassrene Broumand is a self-taught Iranian-American poet. She has a B.A. in Philosophy & English from Boise State University, where she tutored logic for six semesters, graduated summa cum laude, & was named a Top Ten Scholar. Afterwards she spent 13 years working odd jobs in San Francisco & writing thousands of poems in her spare time. Nominated for a Pushcart in 2017 by Sundog Lit, she also has poems in Word RiotA-Minor MagazineRight Hand PointingWindfall, & elsewhere. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon & blogs for Burning House Press. Find her on Twitter: @AmeeBroumand