White Peonies
by Reginald Dwayne Betts

This is how it happens, one morning
The ground is only the ground, & then
Green shoots through the rich brown loam.
I learned the word loam when I was starving
For something: fools would call it love,
& I would say it was a time machine, longing
For some days, months, years, when the sorrows
Didn’t bloom like this thing from the ground
That I can barely name. Tell me how these
Peonies have migrated from Asia to my garden,
Have found their way into my line of vision
Despite prison & all the suffering I don’t speak.
It all happens so sudden is what I mean to say,
When sadness becomes a beauty before your
Eyes so startling you ask friends what to name
The flower before you. I admit, I’ve pretended
To be g-d. To give a name to this thing that gives
Me joy. I called it Sunday, & then called it
After my firstborn. Have you ever been so rattled
By the unexpected that you wanted someone’s
Blessing to name the thing? The peonies are so
Lovely they frighten me. They grow on thin stems
Longer than my arms with blooms heavier
Than the stalks. But isn’t it always so? The beauty
Of the world so hefty we fear the world
Cannot stand it? & yet, why would we not want
To pray when we notice? Why do we forget that
Naming is the first kind of prayer, even as the white
Flowers turn into scented oil against my skin.

"White Peonies" by Reginald Dwayne Betts from DOGGEREL © 2025 Reginald Dwayne Betts.