Today my mother sent me pics
of the peonies back home,
because I was there at Easter
but they were just buds.
That bush has been there
for as long as I remember,
but I can’t picture myself
as a little kid
running and tumbling
on that same grass,
looking at those peonies
a million times,
never imagining I’d see
those flowers on a screen
because I missed them blooming.
Most of the time
I spent in that space
I didn’t even own a phone;
I didn’t know what it was.
I hope, whatever happens,
that bush can carry on.
I’d love it to outlive us all,
because I sense relief
in the idea of immanence.
I have the utmost faith
in roots’ perseverance.
They’ll be fine, even when we’re gone.
Cosmic & Uneasy 