"Beeswax" by Tina Dermidjian

Beeswax

The forest green door of metal was like a welcome mat;
the loosened buzzer like a live-wire
to Uncle John and his beeswax refinery
buried between brick buildings in Queens, NY.

Each window faded-yellow like a fog
in semi-empty streets of trucks
and garage openings; desolate
yet like home during holidays from school.

Inside, rows of fluorescent lights; a makeshift office
a long hallway and six navy pots on stoves
to melt and refine wax for hours
boiled into golden lava like alchemy.

Out of six spickets, we poured wax into hundreds of molds
the size of bread loaves; the scent of beeswax
lingered like an offering from the past.

Uncle of chemistry and creams, chewing gums and candles.
Uncle of space shuttle coating and M&M’s. 
Uncle of wax chandeliers and encaustic paintings 
and the sticky sounds of wax beneath our feet.

Who will remember these sounds: the loosened buzzer
and squishy-stuck wax on our shoes? Who will remember
the heat of wax at the tip of our fingers?

Each time we checked the molds, a new flesh
covered our skin like a layer of memory we’d peel off
without much thought, except to wait longer.
Who will wait for us? Who will help us let go?

Tina Demirdjian

Moments in time define Tina Demirdjian’s poetry; everyday observations create impact in her work. Her use of the senses to relay memory or to recreate a moment integrates how she lives and how she sees others live; the individual life morphs into the shared experiences of the collective.

Headshot: Tina Demirdjian

Photo Credit: Staff