They look stubborn. It seems as though
the peonies on my kitchen counter
have not been notified it is their job to bloom
and fill my life with joy.
Green-leafed stalks with the bulb on top, but pink.
Like artichokes gone wild.
I know the feeling of being taunted, and this is it.
In stomps the preteen from his neighborhood jaunts.
He isn’t mad, he just stomps. I think his bones
have grown so fast he can’t keep up with them.
I watch him at the refrigerator with the milk,
at the snack cabinet with the beef jerky.
He puts an apple in his pocket and I remember
when the only thing he would eat was goldfish
and avocados. I remember telling myself
he’ll grow out of it,
and hoping I was right.
He waves at me. We’re on friendly terms.
I watch him walk out the door then turn
myself again, to a flower in full bloom.
Three days of watching and the magic happens
when I’m distracted.
Maybe it’s always that way.
Maybe everything needs to be left alone to blossom.