My dad lectured me,
Eat your fruits and vegetables.
Now, my grandson interrogates me,
What are fruits and vegetables?
I don’t answer, since one question
leads to the next at his age,
which is too young to hear about
droughts, fires, floods,
how robo pollinators never worked,
and most of all, famine.
My grandmother wrote a poem,
but I only remember a few lines
along with its title—
“No Bees on the Buttercups.”
No more blooms to vanquish
in our slow and sad decline,
no more stings to anguish
once we lose our most divine.
With no more hums to hear
from our precious bumble bees,
hunger—a grave fear—
could bring us to our knees.
I know her poem was much longer,
but that’s all I can remember.
I should write it down
before I forget even these words.
—
Anne Gruner is a Pushcart nominee whose poetry has been in over a dozen print and online publications, including Amsterdam Quarterly Review, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, New Verse Newsletter, Written Tales, and Poetry Downtown 2024. Her other work has appeared in Persimmon Tree, Third Flatiron Review, Constellations: Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Hippocampus Magazine, Silver Blade Magazine, and others. A former CIA analyst, Anne lives in McLean, Virginia with her husband and two golden retrievers. https://www.annegruner.com/
