Peony Poems

Once when you nearly died
an angel affixed your garden's dream cloud
to your face. You inhaled
life's green soul through a coil -
stem and leafy fronds.

There in your hour of last earth
an ant became the harpist
who unfurled remembrance.
Each pollen sample became a call
to your earliest knowing,

each petal, a hand cupped
in longing for departed family,
each wreath the blushed face
of your love. And when the ant
finished his round,

brushed anthers golden and curled
you reached out, grasped
into your arms tomorrow's flower -
your grandchild, arms full of your blooms
and instead, welcomed you back home.

* published in "Goodbyes to Hold"
* This poem was written when my dad had his last heart attack on the operating table. He went on to live another fifteen more years, dying this year at the age of almost 80.

Peonies New Life

How is it that I can not miss your passing,
always knowing that you are there, like an angel,
watching down upon me and our shared history,
until my peonies bloom full and strong.

Your peony patch flourished for years,
I watched you plow the soil, watched you feed
them with your love, and brag on and on
blooms more glorious than any around.

The smell so intense, the petals so round,
soft like a child's cheek you would adore.
So many times in life you were the hard edge
of discipline on the soft life of provided strength,

the laughter of silly jokes, stars through tube
and a fanny pulled through water, or the char
on our cheeks or the match burned twice.
And the pass it on joke at church getting silly.

Now when it isn't supposed to hurt, the beds
of peonies raise their glorious heads, looking up
toward heaven, sinking down beneath rain,
and linking to my father, who I still love today.