The Honey Room by Donal Mahoney

Brother Al, in his hood,

is out in his field

making love to his bees.

From my room I can see him

move through his hives

the way people should move

among people.

The bees give him gold and the gold

turns orange in the jars

that he sells in a room

near the door of the abbey.

The Honey Room, everyone calls it.

Besides Brother Al, only I

go into that room full of honey.

I go in there and bend

and look through the jars

on the shelves and the sills

till there in the orange I see Sue

standing straight

in a field of her own

with a smile

for our garland of children.

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Donal Mahoney has had poems published in a variety of print and online publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey) and A Golden Place. A native of Chicago, he lives now in St. Louis, Missouri, where he discovered, much to his doctor’s distress, biscuits and gravy.

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Editor’s Note: Please continue praying for Bennett, and prayerfully consider contributing to the  Compassionate Creativity fundraiser happening this month. Let’s find this little boy a home!