did you know that the moon is drifting away from the earth at about
four centimeters a year
& that four centimeters is roughly the same size as three honeybees
stacked one on top of the other
& if one hundred & twenty-nine thousand nine hundred & twenty-six
honeybees stood head upon wing,
they would reach the top of the cumbre vieja volcano, which nests in the
canary islands;
which erupted on september nineteenth; which buried six beehives in ash
for no less than fifty days—
but the honeybees survived, five out of six hives to be exact, which the
locals called the sweetest miracle;
like finding carbon inside of a two-point-billion-year-old ruby, like fitting
every planet in our solar system between
the moon & earth—& like earth with all her honeybees softly singing:
death ain’t nothin’ but honey made different.
—
An avid introvert, full-time carbon-based life-form and aspiring himbo, Ashley Cline’s poetry has appeared here, and also there. A two-time Pushcart nominee and Best of the Net 2020 finalist, her debut chapbook, “& watch how easily the jaw sings of god,” is available now (Glass Poetry Press, 2021), while “should the earth reclaim you” (Bone & Ink Press), “cowabungaly yours at the end of the world” (Gutslut Press), and “electric infinities” (Variant Lit) are forthcoming. Once, in the summer of 2019, she crowd-surfed an inflatable sword to Carly Rae Jepsen, and her best at all-you-can-eat sushi is 5 rolls in 11 minutes. Twitter: @the_Cline. Instagram: @clineclinecline. Linktree: @ashleycline.
Photography by: Jason D
