When we brought our home in 1985, several feet of late winter, gray tinged snow hid garden treasures: chives and clematis by the back door, vibrant orange Oriental poppies along the (now gone) fence, and peonies lining the south side of the old garage. While a portion of the peonies were transplanted to Eau Claire, others remain anchoring various gardens on our small Kutzky Park lot. These delicate blossoms were battered in the late May storm that severely damaged the last remaining large elm tree so Jane Kenyon’s poem, Peonies at Dusk, put into words what is missing from my spring flower collection. Perfect for this month’s third Thursday’s Gathering of Poetry.
Peonies at Dusk White peonies blooming along the porch send out light while the rest of the yard grows dim. Outrageous flowers as big as human heads! They’re staggered by their own luxuriance: I had to prop them up with stakes and twine. The moist air intensifies their scent, and the moon moves around the barn to find out what it’s coming from. In the darkening June evening I draw a blossom near, and bending close search it as a woman searches a loved one’s face.
Bibliographic credit: Kenyon, Jane. Peonies at Dusk, from Constance: Poems. © Graywolf Press, 1993.
Photo credit: Maryam from Prexels
Knit+ Librarian 
I’ve read several of Jane Kenyon’s poems, but this is one of the best. She has captured the loveliness of peonies with her evocative language, and I thank you for sharing.
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I got an email with your July post but it’s now not here?
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