Why the Aging Poet Continues to Write


At a coneflower's seed-making center,
hundreds of tiny dark florets—
each stiff and sharp—
take turns oozing 
their flashes of pollen.
A flagrant
bee-stopping show.

Making a bright circle, 
the outermost spiky blossoms 
open first to then fade. 
Shrinking day by day, 
the ring of yellow flame
moves inward. 
That heart—what's at 
the flower's very core—
blazes last.


                       —Paulann Petersen

Understory, Lost Horse Press, 2013

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