The Bee keeper

She stands at the stove, a strand of black hair lacquered to a sweating face, stirring a saucepan of bubbling strawberries, like boiling flesh she thinks. Behind her, on a scrubbed pine table, is a row of blue-white glass jars, each with a silver teaspoon at a slope. She lifts the wooden spoon and inverts it to see if it is ready. A glistening pink strand edges down, as a spider will lower itself seeking purchase. She turns it over, raises it to her mouth and sticks out a kitten pink tongue, recoiling too quickly to taste, too slowly to avoid a burn. She reaches for the sugar which sifts down as the packet folds in on itself. Staring ahead, she stirs automatically before lifting the saucepan off the stove...continue