June Second

peonies passing

My mother’s prized peonies bloomed on the day she died. 

June Second. 

                     “I want to run them all over in my car,” my aunt remarked. 

         I have a picture in my head of her Chevy Tahoe 

peeling back and forth,

                                     back and forth,                         plowing them down, 

skid marks in the soil.                            That was fourteen years ago. 

          June second comes again and again 

Tomorrow                                           

The peonies are about to burst.