For My Mother

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready

   to break my heart

     as the sun rises,

       as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open--
  pools of lace,
    white and pink--
      and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
   into the curls,
     craving the sweet sap,
       taking it away

to their dark, underground cities--
  and all day
    under the shifty wind,
      as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
  and tip their fragrance to the air,

     and rise,
      their red stems holding



all that dampness and recklessness
   gladly and lightly,
     and there it is again--
       beauty the brave, the exemplary,



blazing open.

~ Mary Oliver, excerpt 'Peonies'
 

Comments

[cacky]

Talya,
She was with me too today and Mary Oliver is perfect.
Love You, Cacky