Rust Honey

I knew for years the archaic term for refrain—

The part of the song you carry—

Is the burden. It carries you. Refrain, also, as in

Hold back. The burden holds me back.

If I didn’t have you, my father said, passing

The fire, I’d get out to help. It made me

Imagine people inside. I lived instead.

Burden, I learned, after the bees began

Producing rust-honey in their rust-wax

Hives, is also what you feed

Into the blast furnace. A burden of rust-honey,

Into the furnace shaft. The slag

Is gummy. It sounds impossible. It’s also

Dull. The house kept burning and we ran

For help. It means we’d stopped to watch.

It sounds impossible. It’s also dull.

Tenderly, though, his running desperate,

Yet matching his steps to the child.

A sweet smell in tetanus.