I pretend to know the difference between three kinds of honey
My only way of judging is whether I would eat it on toast
My brother’s way of judging is how the honey feels on his throat
My father’s way of judging is not judging at all; he just likes that he has bought three kinds of honey
My mother’s way of judging is whatever she finds consoling after twenty-one years of this man buying three kinds of honey. everywhere.
She cannot blame him because he has earned the right
after being stung as a child
Did it hurt? we ask him. When you got stung?
Sure, he says, but if you had a hive and someone got too close
Wouldn’t you sting them?
No, my brother probably said, I would be a nice bee
Bees don’t know the difference between right and wrong, stupid, I probably said
Don’t be mean, my sister probably said
And she forgives me
A forgiveness that crystallizes
Like three kinds of honey