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Watching Bees Dance | Gabriel Gusman

Watching Bees Dance

Beatrize waltzes with the wind that rolls off Mt Tamalpais while she cleans the dust off the windows to let the sunshine into her home, buried and hidden in heartbreak and the hills.

Sitting on the couch I’m deep in cushions, my legs kicked out for years, relaxing in the cooling warmth of an inquired enchanted August afternoon,

idiot grinning and hiding my shine; pouring over her reflection that’s glistening off the tinted sliding glass door pretending to be her back wall but was the forefront in my third eye.

Beatrize pirouettes with a vacuum in a vacuum forgotten by time, protected by trinkets and art; safe and sound in the Red Nag Champa and the playlist music that calms her storms.

Singing cryptic love songs as she dances with the vacuum sucking up yesterday’s street dirt and the strewn reminisces of an ex-boyfriend that ran away too soon with more than just the dish.

But what do I care where he ran too. I’m ready to jump over the moon the cuckoo’s nest and the devil just to steal a tasty kiss from her salty tear soaked lips.

I want to show Beatrize what kind of man I am, so I asked if there was anything that I could do for her, “although windows and mirrors weren’t my strong suit.”

She warbles to me as she gets right in my face, all beams and taunt, scrutinizing the right buttons to press on. “Sexy is when a man is willing to admit to HIS weaknesses.”

I sweetly say to her as I take the newspaper and Windex from her strong hands, acting like I’m not that hard to get, “Hot is when a man is able to change THAT, right in front of your eyes.”

Beatrize laughed so beautifully hard that it breaks my teeth, and then she lobs me right back onto the couch like a throw pillow, I’m all downy and light.

She radiates as I free fall back on to the cushions, without the Windex and the Marin IJ in my hands, without the chance to prove my prowess as a gentlemen and a scholar, But…

I got a kiss on the cheek while getting put down and then she tells me that she’ll be with me in a second, “Let me get pretty for you!”

“Why?” I asked, “Don’t you see that you’re beautiful already.” She glows … I can’t hear the tick tocks anymore since everything went digital. I miss winding clocks.

Beatrize sashays away behind double doors to the place where she can hide; from the risk of love, abyss and oblivion and the suitors’ song. Before sparkles fade

She twirls and smiles back at me, scrutinizes me like you would a good pen that worked from time to time, but didn’t have the heart to let fly away because it felt good in the hand.

Maybe one day she’ll let me hide away with her in there, under the gracious thread count of fine cotton sheets, away from the night and day; cackling at the din listening through thin walls,

And with maybe’s being the long shot that they are, I like my chances a little better as she giggly bumps into her bedroom door humming Good Girls Don’t… But we’ll see.

I dig the way the dice rumbas on wooden table tops as I watch how the bees dance around her head, when she’s thinking about Kiss-Me-Over-The-Garden-Gates and Red Clover.

I hang with the lazy squirrels loosely gathering in front of the sliding glass door chattering about yesterday’s current events and expecting to be fed fancy unsalted mix nuts and kind words,

the mountain blue jays and sparrows conjugate on the power lines, eyeballing the bird feeder and debating about the wholesomeness of men and the seeds that fill unfulfilled hearts.

Does God send flash mobs to the brokenhearted? Or is the universe just trying to give a lonely heart a break… Maybe karma’s teaching the both of us lesson about time.

I’m never on time for anything, and she’s always late for everything. Perhaps together we can make time stop, wherever we may wash up.

So it’s me and the birds and the squirrels and the ghosts and the bees, and we all sit there earthbound, waiting patiently for Beatrize.

Waiting on Beatrize to fall out of her sanctuary and join in the camaraderie.

How I love to watch Beatrize dance in the wind that comes rolling down the hills of Mount Tam.

I can’t hear the ticks and the tocks since everything in my heart just paused.

I miss winding clocks.

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