Poem of the Week: “Equinox,” by Elizabeth Alexander

Equinox Now is the time of year when bees are wild  and eccentric. They fly fast and in cramped  loop-de-loops, dive-bomb clusters of conversants  in the bright, late-September out-of-doors.  I have found their dried husks in my clothes.  They are dervishes because they are dying,  one last sting, a warm place to squeeze  a drop