what the peonies taught me:
A poem by Jaweerya Mohammad

what the peonies taught me:

they began as gnarly roots resembling chicken feet,
what strange beauty could possibly swirl inside? 
every May for five years they only sprouted green foliage,
flowerless. it took five years to bake beneath soil
before the bush birthed bulbs, slight pink flesh 
of petals peeking through the knotted spheres.
for weeks ants nibbled and gnawed on sticky sap, though 
it was thankfully the ants who prevented other beastly
insects from feasting on fresh petals. buds became swollen 
marshmallows but still curled inwards, and I blinked
and blinked again seeing stems weighed down 
by drizzle and bolted buds, never flowers.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tracing sun 
splotches in the dark, imagining 
until it was too real and stung. stretched
my lids open to dreamy, doubled flowers, full
golden pistils hiding at their core.
peonies unfurling not on anyone else’s time but their own,
I watched them sway in the wind, collect dew-like wells, 
I cupped their blushed faces and kissed them
one by one, having learned a patient love
from dirt to nectar.

About the Author:

Jaweerya Mohammad is a passionate educator, having taught Middle School English for many years. Her writing is shaped by her Muslim and first-generation Pakistani American identity. Some of her poetry has been published in the “Third Space” Anthology by Renard Press and the literary magazine Muslim Youth Musings. 

You can find more of Jaweerya’s work on Instagram (@jaweeryajournals)

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