How I stop

My daughter is sitting on the porch steps
Ieating cheerios and raisins out of a ziploc bag
and she notices a bumblebee dying.

Something is wrong with its wings
and it can't fly
It struggles on the path near the grass

I tell her I'm going to have to kill it
That it's wrong to let things suffer
And I put a heavy potted cactus on top of it

I hope it is instantly crushed to death
I don't actually know which is more painful
the sudden crushing or the alternative

Turning on the hose
I've heard from plenty of sources that drowning is merciful
But the pot is my first impulse

So it's what I use
Then we wash it away with the hose
Into a shallow grave where the path meets the grass

My daughter wonders if the bee will live again
Whether it will come back as a fly
I tell her it could be a dog, a fly, a little girl

I don't feel sorry saying this, or sorry for the bee
But grateful- killing it allowed me to end my last flutter of feeling for you
Like you and me it was dying anyway

Someone had to do the right thing
You thought you already had