Come, come, you wasp

Hello, it’s been a while.

I’ve been busting my ass, like I said. It’s not a great reason, true, but something has to give, and it’s not going to be sleep, damnit.

In 2012, I’ve spent too much time feeling crushed with embarrassment by my faults. People tell me this is stupid. I guess this is true. One non-fault quality of mine is that I’m pretty good at accepting other people’s less-than-stellar qualities. Is it vanity that I can’t give them the benefit of the doubt that they’ll do the same for me?

Having insane amounts of energy will never be one of my faults.

The good news is that I’ve done a lot of work this year. The bad news is that the creative front has suffered. The good news is that I’ve written every day! The bad news is that I’ve allowed movie reviews and autism to monopolize the writing.

It’s time to recalibrate.

This week, I’ve done more editing than I have in the rest of the year combined. It’s a great feeling, partly because I think I’m really good at it. But honestly, it’s such a relief to be critiquing instead of the one being critiqued. Or, you know, judged, whatever.

Anyway, the house we live in came with some deck furniture. Recently, I noticed a tiny something or other stuck to the umbrella.

A blip on an expanse of umbrella

It is about one inch by two inches. And it is perfect. RZ frequently tells me that perfection is an unattainable goal, but that’s obviously not true.

A perfect blip

This mighty bit of engineering is a miniature wasp nest. I know, I know: Tiny nests have a way of getting big and out of control. It will need to be scraped away while it’s still smaller than, say, my thumb.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

If it gets as big as my hand, things will have gotten out of control. But if you know anything about me, you know that my inclination is to let it get out of control. This is not because of tenderheartedness or a particular affinity for stinging insects. It’s because I am fascinated.

In his tongue.

How does it know? Is it the work of only one wasp, or are there several? Do they spend their days scouring the neighborhood for scraps of paper? Are there other materials involved? We put the umbrella up and down quite a bit. Does this bother them? Do they have a preference for either the up or down position?

Whose tongue?

These wasps have managed to do what no human ever has: They’ve made a perfect something.

Come, come, you wasp

But where does this perfection get them? Wasps are dicks and I’m totally going to destroy this in like, five seconds.

Wasp Nest
by John Fuller

Be careful not to crush
This scalloped tenement:
Who knows what secrets
Winter has failed to find
Within its paper walls?

It is the universe
Looking entirely inwards,
A hanging lantern
Whose black light wriggles
Through innumerable chambers

Where hopes still sleep
In her furry pews,
The chewed dormitory
Of a forgotten tribe
That layered its wooden pearl.

It is a basket of memories,
A museum of dead work,
The spat Babel of summer
With a marvellous language
Of common endeavour.

Note: it is the fruit
Returning to the tree,
The world becoming a clock
For sleep, a matrix of pure
Energy, a book of many lives.

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4 Responses to Come, come, you wasp

  1. RZ says:

    If you were any closer to perfect, you’d be a wasp’s nest.

    Keep posting!

  2. Ann Sawyer says:

    Either way, Becca, you are infinitely lovable.

  3. Pingback: Long Days | Saucy Salad

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