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Perennial
So what if next year the deep pink burst
will not appear outside my door.
What if, after all the tending,
the IV's filled with said miracles--droplets
from the blood bags that reawaken your body,
ignite your mind--your face,
a blossom, will not appear outside my door?
Today, June peonies lighten my path--so what
if next year they do not come back? If
they do and you do not,
I'll hack them down with an ax--
that they dare reappear,
their spread petals wild tongues
screaming SO WHAT?
Hahn, Susan. Poetry. Modern Poetry Association, 1998.