The Peony Petals

A Poem and a story about the poem

The peony petals scattered there, were freshly-fallen white and fair, no longer than a day or two before my glance again fell to the floor.

They were closed in, dark-stained now, their call of light and grace and how I had to learn from what was shown had dropped a note and changed its tone.  

How to, or so they seemed to say, be fresh and light and live this day, and when the time has come to die - quick-now, into the bright blue sky.

2017

(Published online by the League of Canadian Poets, twice)

The Making of the Poem

Several years ago, I was trying, and mostly failing, to write a poem about a political event, which, while important in political terms, is not important for this little note. The point is, as I was trying to write a political poem, I happened to turn around and notice that a peony petal had fallen on the floor in my room. I marvelled at how beautiful, even perfect, it was. Then I returned and continued working on my political poem. I kept working the next day and the day after. On this second day, I noticed that the same peony petal was still on the floor, as I had, in my focus and lack of attentiveness, forgotten to pick it up. Its character had changed completely, and seemed to have other lessons. Then a bit of magic: the idea of writing a poem about the peony petal managed to overpower my will to continue the political poem.. Within the hour, I had this poem, and never finished the political one.

Robert Girvan, January 12, 2026