Japanese Hornet

We are hanging christmas lights in June
for the cocktail party: Bruce and Georgia getting married.
Feet braced on the ladder, he reaches toward me
and the nail in the palm of my hand.

"Where?" he asks, lifting the lights and gesturing
left and then right, testing their place.
"Left. And up. Can you get it right under the eaves?"
He starts to reach and then squints, stops, shudders.

"What?" "Wasp nest. I'm not reaching up there."
"It looks abandoned." "Look, I'm not getting closer."
"But--" "No." He's already at the base of the ladder.
I think he's been waiting for a reason to stop.

The green electrical cord coils around our feet
where he lets it fall. "What's wrong with you?
We have to get this done." He shakes his head,
and I feel the fight stir in my stomach and rise up.

I taste every word I am about to say. Words press
into the back of my throat, a hot swarm, sharp
and vicious. They refuse to be swallowed.
My mouth cracks open and I let the cruel things fly.

---

When I was a child, my father held a wasp nest
in his bare palm. It was a mistake. I watched
him reach under the old Ford, feeling for
some broken machinery. Instead, he found the nest.

His hand closed around it before he knew.
I remember the cry of pain, the leap back,
the way he shook his swelling fingers and did not swear.
Scared, I offered him insecticide, a fly swatter, or fire.

"I don't need to kill them," he said, gesturing
with his good hand toward the damaged paper envelope.
"These aren't yellowjackets. They're paper wasps.
They only sting when threatened, and I won't hurt them again.

Yellowjackets now, those guys are mean.
They're not just defensive--they're aggressive.
You stay away from them, honey," he warned.
"But daddy," I said, watching the wasps,

"These have yellow jackets too. How are they different?"
The nest buzzed angrily. Glossy black and yellow bodies
flitted brightly against the dusty red paint of the Ford.
Dad considered. "Not sure. But you can tell when they sting."

---

Yesterday I learned about the Japanese hornet,
also known as the giant sparrow bee.
It is characterized by a large yellow head and
a dark brown thorax, split by yellow bands.

They often grow two inches long with a wingspan
of almost 3 inches. I saw one fit in a woman's hand.
A single hornet can kill forty honeybees in a minute.
Thirty hornets can destroy an entire hive.

One article with the title "Hornets from Hell"
told me that their venom--injected by a quarter-inch stinger
--will dissolve human flesh and cause renal failure or death.
Thirty to forty people die in Japan every year.

But I am not afraid. These hornets do not live here.
I will not close my unsuspecting palm around one,
or disturb their nest in a dark place within my reach.
I expect no sting of pain to catch me in my car or in my house.

Perhaps it is true that no one expects to be stung
because these hornets live in the forest. Yellowjackets
and paper wasps sometimes nest underground.
Surprising, then, the damage I've seen done on an average day in June.