peonies, at three years old

Last night, in the rain
I propped the tumbling peonies
tethered them with tomato twine
These flowers planted
In hopefulness
In a different, solitary spring
Now grown tall,
roots threaded with whispering voices
telling them to burst into blossom
The thrill of anticipation in every stem
so heavy-headed with possibility
So strong
It threatened to topple their whole bodies
Till I came along with my twine
And gave shape to all this promise