Sylvia Plath: The Bee Meeting
The Bee Meeting Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers—— The rector, the midwife, the sexton, the agent for bees. In my sleeveless summery dress I have no protection, And they are all gloved and covered, why did nobody tell me? They are smiling and taking out veils tacked to ancient hats. I am nude as a chicken neck, does nobody love me? Yes, here is the secretary of bees with her white shop smock, Buttoning the cuffs at my wrists and the slit from my neck to my knees. Now I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice. They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear. Which is the rector now, is it that man in black? Which is the midwife, is that her blue coat? Everybody is nodding a square black head, they are knights in visors, Breastplates of cheesecloth knotted under the armpits. Their smiles and their voces are changing. I am led through a beanfield. Strips of tinfoil winking like people, Feather dusters fanning their hands in a ...