Unconsoled Poem by Nan Williamson

unconsoled

In a white milk jug,
mirrored in the lacquered oak,
pure white peonies wait,
buds stir, lean into blowsy sisters, listen.

Two men sway, shuffle,
hold each other in darkstreets,
lean into a doorway. A crumbled treble voice
sings out, Jesus´ blood never failed me yet.
Buds cry, a shadow bends in forced submission.

three white peonies
float by the window, in three blue bowls.
Small puffs of wind stir.
Blooms sway, unconsoled
by the spare and gentle heartsongs of Satie.