hornet nests

You’ve left a little smudge, your fingerprint in ink on my heart when you ripped it from my chest. I snatched it back, but things have not been the same since then for you, or me, or the organ. I can hear it crying in the night. Little drops of blood leak through my skin and dot my sheets with sadness and crimson remorse. 

On the wall of grape vines, I find a nest of hornets. They have used a strange papyrus to create a place for their children on the wooden lattice, hidden in the leaves. I drink wine and watch them come and go. One day, I will need to pick the grapes and on that day the hornets will cause a dangerous dilemma. But until then, I decided to worry about something else like other humans who sting and the rising cost of wine due to tariffs.

Rachel Turney, Ed.D. (she/her) is an educator and artist located in Denver. Her poems, research articles, reviews, and drawings can be found in a variety of publications. Rachel is passionate about immigrant rights, teacher support, and empowering other artists. She is a Writers’ Hour prize winner and Best of the Net nominee. Her photography appears on a few magazine covers. Rachel runs the popular online reading series Poetry (in Brief). She is on staff at Bare Back Magazine with her monthly column Friday Night in the Suburbs. She reads for The Los Angeles Review. Website: turneytalks.com Instagram: @turneytalks Bluesky: rachelturney