A Peony for Bill

Reading my friend Bill's blog again at Poet's Farm, I realize that I have been rushing to such a degree, that Memorial Day has passed me and I am approaching the last week of June. Bill's grandmother grew and sold peonies over Memorial Days past. Today, of my four, one peony on the shaded northern bush is still in bloom.

So in honor of those who are gone, but still in bloom inside of us, as Bill so beautifully said, here are some photos to witness and remember the sunlight and color, as well as a poem reminding me of the redemptive power of having my hands in the soil:

Earth

Through the curtains
I watch my mother planting
flowers; alyssum, indigo
lobelia, the bulbs
of lavender tulips, her
clipped nails christened
in earth.

My sons gallop toward her. She squeals
as they tumble together

laughing.

And Mother,
I remember you spinning
me, round and round
in your arms, me
squealing with delight,
your open smile
my only focus

in a rapidly dizzying world.