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By Scot Martin Fear is an over- reaction; the right response, perhaps, is respect. The small, wingéd demon only eight inches from where I sit. Oblivious to me, Dolichovespula maculata (not the name Adam bestowed) placidly gnaws on the dead, barkless cottonwood. Dare I smash this vespid? Possessing a spectral face-- white patches on its head and thorax, glossy, solid black eyes—(almost a death’s head in miniature) spawner of sweaty terror and feverish dreams of “revenge and doubt.” Why the desire within to destroy the hornet? Equally troubling, bubbling in myself, a phrase: “For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God…” I inhale as it flies away with mandibles full of wood pulp. Scot F. Martin lives with his family and teaches high school English in the Rouge River watershed in southeast Michigan. He has been published in Jesus the Imagination, Front Porch Republic, Stand, Ignatian Solidarity Network, Flourish and other analog and digital publications.
Scot's previous work on Foreshadow: untitled (Poetry, October 2023)
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