It’s early yet, for the peonies to bloom. But I am already thinking about them, hence this poem, which I wrote one spring as I watched some peony flowers I had brought in slowly dismember. My favorite is Festiva Maxima. If I had my druthers, I would have a whole bed of these. One place where you might find them is here: http://finagardenspeonies.com/White.html
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The white peony petals
lie in a heap.
They have fallen off their centers.
A mass letting go –
like a sudden downpour
of unexpected rain,
or tears.
What to do with these petals?
I still see beauty in these
fallen, dismembered flowers.
What to do with these petals
that to some look like refuse?
Do I make a bed of these petals
and lie upon it,
to see how long
their cool, silky touch
will last?
Do I scatter them to my garden
letting these white delicacies
feed it?
Do I press them,
so I can hold onto to this beauty,
and the memory of
this scent that I love to bury my nose in?
The same dilemma, every year.
In the end, it’s always a letting go.
Next Spring
I will study their round firm heads,
and wait
for the day that I can
embrace this pleasure
all over again.
Kattalina's Blog 