I felt ugly today so I stayed inside.
Outside my windows, wasps and hornets
clung to the panes. Because I couldn't rely
on the screens and storms, I kept
the frames sealed — too hot
inside, no air, but safe
from all the stinging things. Later,
one buzzed near the ceiling.
I trapped it.
With my sweaty yellow rubber-gloved
hand, I clasped the translucent tupperware
to the wall around it, tipped it
inside, then swiftly capped the top.
How beautiful it was, its legs
and all its tiny
hairs, lowering its wedge-face
to clean its antennae — then the thin wings
vibrating, suspending its body,
afloat in the small space,
an angel with string legs hanging.
I looked a long time at its face.
I wanted to explain my fear
of being stung; to apologize
for trapping it this way.
And I thought: My own face
scares me.
I'm afraid of being seen.
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