lesser celandine by Kathleen Hellen

The Dalai Lama asks
on The Path to Tranquility
if the art of killing can be thought of as
beauty. The women in the garden club
are asking: How to dig it up? Get rid
of lesser celandine. The bright invader
overtaking bluebells and bloodroot. Native
trillium. Martha said that Jim let her use his snake-
tongued weeder. Ria said she used a three-prong tool.
A plaster knife with double-sided teeth.
Like Sun Tzu, who campaigned on the subtle
over gross, Holly calculated: Wait after a soaking
rain. Or better yet, killing might be art if you effect,
at small expense, a huge amount of destruction.
Herbicide might do the job, Betsy recommended.
Unlock the sprayer! To which I said a silent prayer
for compassion that extends to sentience at the cellular
level. This lowly lovely bloom no doubt aware of our intentions.

Kathleen Hellen is the recipient of the James Still Award, the Thomas Merton Prize for Poetry of the Sacred, and prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review. Her debut collection Umberto’s Night won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House. In addition, Hellen is the author of The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Meet Me at the Bottom, and two chapbooks. Her work has appeared in Arts & Letters, Barrow Street, Colorado Review, DIAGRAM, EcoTheo, The Hopper, jubilat, Massachusetts Review, New Letters, North American Review, Poetry Northwest, Prairie Schooner, Salamander, Waxwing, World Literature Today, and elsewhere.

Published October 15 2025