Telling The Bees Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Here in the darkness
of this cellar

the summer sleeps
in jars.

The honey winks
from one jar to another.

We resurrect it
spread it on bread and butter.

Then we go to tell the bees
of your dying.

'All your sad or merry
you must tell the bees! '

The words gleam
through tears.

The bees busy with their
'Reinigunsflug.'

They pay us no heed.

We leave them
a little funeral wine

in a sky blue saucer
with a golden rim.

We tap the hive
with a key

'EinsZweiDrei! '

as you taught us to.

Anoint our lips
with honey.

Whether the bees
have heard our news

we know
not.

The bees busy being
themselves

murmur...
a church congregation.

Your wife
(your death has entered her)
poisoned her life

...chants.
She chants.

'Bees bees, your master's dead
An' now you must work for his missus! '

Now we are at a loss
at what to say.


Words fail us
despite the honey

glistening on our lips.