“In the Name of the Bee”
I asked the grasses if they believed
but they said believe is a poor verb.
I asked the sun but it had eclipsed.
I asked the tree, and it said stand.
I asked the fieldmouse, it nibbled
a seed in my outstretched hand.
I asked the hare, but it didn’t stop. I asked
the ground but it just kept spinning.
Things grew, then died, then rotted, then
renewed the soil. New things grew. I went to ask
the bee about the future but it had gone
extinct with a bead of nectar on its tongue.
I asked the songthrush about the soul
and it sang until a gate to hell opened.
I asked the mountain what mattered.
It said nothing.
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From Kitchen Hymns, copyright 2025 by Pádraig O’ Tuama, used by permission of Copper Canyon Press.
