Wasp Allegory

A wasp in the house is batteringtoday against the lightbulb's heat,and I think of how, as a boy,the marriage of my parentsseemed a hollow log in winter,something where a wild creatureburrowed while wind wailedacross the open fields and madea carapace of ice to transformthe landscape into statuary.You are sleeping on the couchwhen I carry the glass jarto the front door, and insidethat jar the wasp keeps pressingagainst glass, keeps humminga primordial tune formedfrom the center of its body,as though all of life is a vibration.I would wake as a boy to hearthe voices of my parents arguingin the walls, and I would imaginethat the sinew of night outsidethe windows was a living thingtrapped in the corridor of years.I shake the jar to dislodge the waspinto the air, then step backinside to find you uprighton the couch and blinking.I sit beside you and tryto explain how the waspand the memory seemed,together in my thoughts,some great allegory of loveand time and marriage, though now, in the telling,it seems more like whatremains in the jar I amholding in my hand.