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.