Will There Be Honey?

Poetry Sunday

Photo by Alexander Mils on Unsplash

Will there be honey when the last child leaves?
Amber sweetness spread on Bunny-brand
Bread. Sweet viscous stickiness dropping
Like mercury on granite countertop.

With elbows greased, I scrub hard evidence
Of my daughter’s kitchen misdemeanor.

Then in the glossy surface, I see a mottled
reflection, which seems to say — Soon. You
will be queen bee of an empty hive. Soon.
There be no daughter in the morning,

And you will yearn for a stickier life.