by Marjorie Moorhead

Upright and tight fisted. 
Poised to release. 
Each pink peony bud,
potential enclosed; 
vitality condensed.

In June, solstice coming, 
each will open, spill forth 
beauty and fragrance 
like fireworks; 
bright booming blooms. 

Then, weighty petals 
flutter down pooling 
on garden ground; 
stems arching
in summer's night, 
making way for the next 
sweet thing.



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Marjorie Moorhead: I am writing from northern New England, and my work is very connected to the geography and changing seasons. I am a survivor of the early AIDS epidemic (before treatment), and my work often looks at ways of survival. I have two chapbooks, Survival: Trees, Tides, Song and Survival Part 2: Trees, Birds, Ocean, Bees, and am represented in many different anthologies, and on several literary sites. I meet regularly with a small group of poets from the area, although we’ve been zooming since the pandemic. Same with a women’s prompt writing circle. I am a mother, wife, daughter, birdwatcher, walker who hopes to keep growing as a poet person. Read more of Marjorie’s work here.