David Lightfoot
Peonies
They’re redolent of some spice
I cannot name straight off;
not for them the rose’s
simple assault on sinuses.
Sniffing them quickens
buried sorrows
and their remembered balms.
Toddlers share their knack
of extracting both delight
and solicitude.
Silk to the fingertip,
they are of an evening
as luminous as Mars.
Their name derives
from the healer of the gods.
I imagine he told them
simply to loll on Olympus
and pluck these
almost purple petals
one by one.
Page(s) 32
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