Wild Peonies Christine Madline Ellsworth Too much love, ungiven, greens ardent As sweetness in the sugar-veins of new leaves Flinging raised palms prayerfully to azure silk skies While the secret-packed, ant-dense, pink-streaked buds form Clamped fist-tight to arm-wrestle and toss through a cold, dim June When finally they burst in early July, hanging heat-ripe for the shears and vase— Untouched in the greenhouse cupboard these weeks— A magnificence of fragrant clouds, soft as earthbound angels Sweeping pale pearly ears to the hay for the turn of any footfall, Fall limply in the breeze that sows the petals into neighboring acres To sunspot and wrinkle to colorlessness— An old woman’s fingertips— Where they beckon from the black, newly bladed earth Like a spray of far stars in a wheeling constellation Blown further and further afield with each passing summer, But spied again by great grandchildren years later Gone leggy and spindled with frail pygmy blooms, Those once-white petals transformed into tiny, living teacups of defiant, wild red.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 11:22:46 +0000
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