BEE LB

a poem in which there are no answers

no. but this longing, oh, this aching to return—
to take back the tongue and every sighed touch.

no. we cannot go back, cannot stretch ourselves
into the past, cannot find who we once were,

who we once could have been. no. we are not
playing out in reverse, despite our need. no. we

are stepping endlessly forward, tripping over
each new mistake, unable, as ever, to see where

we’re going. no. we do not see where we’ve been.
we refuse to turn back, we shelter our eyes from the

ghost of this [    ]. no. we dream of unseen futures.
we wake with the rising of dawn, we reach for one

another and find our beds empty. i cannot speak
for you, not here; i cannot reach for you, not here;

i cannot say with any certainty whether i could wait
for you. no. there is endless time ahead of us, except

when your fear cuts it short. no. did i say your fear?
i meant my fear, of course— the incessant choking,

the stranglehold it has over me. the way it wakes me
in the night with your name on my lips. no. i do not

reach for you; no, i know you are not here.

BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Revolute Lit, After the Pause, andRoanoke Review, among others. they are the 2022 winner of FOLIO’s Editor’s Prize for Poetry, as well as the Bea Gonzalez Prize for Poetry. they are a poetry reader for Capsule Stories. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co