Poem of the Week: White Peonies

BY HARRY WAITZMAN

Bled by time, tamped by cold,
they lie crushed in March.
Once a red flower embraced me,
twined around my neck,
muffling cries of ecstasy.

I learned wisdom from this Chinese
friend who droused in snow
and cuddled in drifts of smoke.
Her petals touched my lips
to be quiet and remember.

Live a little, love a lot
bright petals aren’t forever.