Clare Starling started writing poetry when her son was diagnosed with autism during lockdown. She particularly loves writing about our connection with nature, and about how neurodiversity can give different perspectives on the world.
The Bee Saver
You always spot tired bees
and then we can’t move on
until I’ve got out my card holder.
They clamber on, waving their feelers.
We scout for flowers between
brick walls and spiny city planting.
Into this untended patch
of mallow and borage
crawls the bee.
Early spring, you saw one
on the way to school
I could not rush you past.
I offered it my card. It roused itself,
climbed on and rode with me.
I made up sugar water,
tipped the damp bee until it
rested one weightless leg upon my finger
leaned in, unrolled its tongue,
drank its miniscule fill.
I left it in a patch of sun.
in an hour the bee had gone.
Perhaps a queen waking
from her winter sleep
to look for her new nest.
You were so proud of me
you called me The Bee Saver;
I think it was the honour of my life.