Glass Poetry Press

Volume One Issue Three

Phoebe Reeves


The peonies bend, heavy clustered fists. They bloom early on the south wall, white-gloved hands relaxing into globes of musk. My neighbor brought them over in a bucket to pile on the piano and admire. Did you know, they can't open without the ants? Ants loosen the peonies' tight buds with their tiny bodies. I had been thinking how lovely they were.