I love good old southern peonies
Although hard May rains often
Come and beat them down
The way some abusive southern men
Beat their wives.

Even face down in the wet grass
They maintain a certain dignity,
A stoic beauty
That cannot be diminished by their bruises.

Like the country women who grow them,
They are strong.
Even when petals fall
Like bloody teeth
Knocked across a linoleum floor,
Their fortitude is a barrier
Far stronger
Than a wadded fist.

They do not need fist and muscle,
The illusion of power
Wielded by weak and insecure men.
They do not need control of men
As men so need of them.
All they need is control of themselves.

There is wisdom to know when to remain face down
And when to stand.
Wisdom realizes the sun will shine again,
And some rain falls gentle
Caressing those same bruised petals
That others have beaten.