A Wasp in the Mulch

A Wasp in the Mulch

I.

Through winter snow I remember the spring,

a wasp who wanted nothing stood his ground

after his home in mulch was rudely found

as I avoided him and his sharp sting.

Then shoveled mulch into a plastic bag

not checking to see if there were others

into the bag I threw the wasp brothers

then to the next mulch pile to pull and drag.

With such thoughtless haste I remove the waste

of an ecosystem I created.

Am I responsible for my own pain?

Am I responsible for the displaced?

Responsible for terms I dictated

for momentary feelings of a gain?

II.

Some days my sins spill forth in front of all.

These days I chase the world with my sting out

to hide inside some mulch or cracked grout

and find a home within this urban sprawl.

Once comforts found a larger party rakes

away the home I create for myself

if I could live upon a higher shelf,

above the world that powerful man makes.

I understand this mulch where I will live

where I will dig my heels into soft ground

and anchor down upon this bed to sleep.

I understand this lifetime that I give

to hold this perfect place that I have found

and pray another year, to fight, to keep.

III.

Who am I to speak of love?  Who am I?

I’ve given all to hold a simple joy

yet give the same to hinder and destroy

so quickly that the wasp could never fly.

I have created my own power myth

with might I hold sway over my own land

with might I raise my nation to be grand

and forget who I share this power with.

Here, down upon myself, I think of time.

I think of where I’ve been and who I’ve known

and concentrate on loss and on my pain.

So humorous this yard work that I mime

to try to find a constant even tone

or a momentary feeling of gain.

IV.

I find a path, though feel incapable,

a common trend I’ve noticed from before,

an empty feeling leaves me wanting more

my own regrets are inescapable.

I rest my shovel up against the house

a bag of mulch and wasp all closed to tow

to places far away from where I grow

where once it was me and my lovely spouse.

With passing time I seem to grow less numb

as if a flicker of a fire will start

my furnace burning into greater flame.

Until this wasp will feed upon my crumb,

this mulch I left to rot as if an art,

at least I know the world will stay the same.

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Jamie Lee Hamann

My name is Jamie Lee Hamann and I have a passion for writing short fiction and poetry.I started writing for TCE around 2015 and since then I have finished seven collections of poetry and plans for more.I currently live in Lemmon Valley NV with my family.If you desire to find my other work on the internet feel free to stop by my website simplepoetics.weebly.com.The website offers articles on poetry, poems, and links to all my other writing.

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