You Left When the Peonies Bloomed

You Left When the Peonies Bloomed

You left when the peonies
bloomed, their soft petals
floated down as your soul,
your spirit, drifted away.
I spent early days in between
the peonies and you, puling
weeds and flowers alike; a
grandmother’s helper indeed.

Their scent brings me to my
knees, much the way the scent
of your folded tablecloths does;
I cannot wash them yet. My
soul still needs to smell the scent
of days gone by spent around
your table; I keep a handkerchief
of yours in my purse, tucked safe.

The pale, almost-not-there pink
of this delicate flower reminds me
of your fingernails and lipstick,
your shirts and dresses. I slip
a pink dress over my body just
to feel you nearer to me, to
see you, if only for a passing
moment, a glimpse in a mirror.

I’ve filled my home with cut
peonies over the past few weeks,
invited you in and sat with you
at your table, now mine. I’ve
smiled and cried and wished
and hoped and missed you with
everything I am as each petal
wilts and falls slowly down.

You will return, in the scents
of the holidays, the glitter and
shine. You will waltz through
my dreams and stop me with a
memory. But in late May and early
June, the peonies will bloom
yet again. I will sit at their
feet with you, if only for awhile.

One reply on “You Left When the Peonies Bloomed”

crying at my desk. your words help me feel your sorrow…and remember my own. the sorrow at the passing of loved ones never ends.
loving you and your family. today and always.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *