Hard not to thrill over peonies
opening in the June garden,
fluffy heads crowding the stems
as if dying to bloom again,
and they might,
though not this year.
Days after the first buds appeared,
the ants showed up,
a small horde, gathering for sap.
Some say these mini-patrols
unseal the buds,
each clenched like a fist
until it finally loosens.
Crawling over the fat buds,
ants ward off aphids and thrips
and other pests angling
for a long sweet landing,
but they cannot—
not by force or tenderness—
coax open a peony
to its double-ruffled heart.
The blooms open slowly
as if wise to their own brief lives
where beauty becomes its own grief,
while the sun goes on gilding
bloomed and unbloomed alike,
all lashed to time
this fleeing season.
