At the floral counter, amid the wreckage
of green stems and discarded leaves
she pulls gently at brown-edged peony petals
Pink and brown fall and fall to cover the surface
Soft pink, deeper pink, white—
no longer clenched buds but not yet
umbrella-opened to fullness of fragrant flowers
caught like a woman at the beginning
of a delicious morning stretch
The florist shakes her head, frustrated with
fact—the grower, she says, picked them
too soon. Some flowers bloom no matter what
no matter where
Not peonies. Once cut, they don’t open further
Once cut, they are done
We are quiet together for a moment
watching the soft pink, deep pink, white
edged brown petals fall and fall
She looks up, puts on her retail smile
says, How about carnations?
Puff Of Smoke Poems 