The Honey Room

The Honey Room 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. Donal Mahoney Commonweal Magazine November 14, 1969 Vol. 91 No. 7. November 1969 232 Madison Ave. New York, NY 10016 John Fandel, poetry editor 45th anniversary issue