We gently steam
shucking raincoats
shaking umbrellas.

A small foyer
between the busy road
and the peony perfumed hall.

A petite lady giggles
as she topples
over her discarded handbag.
Then we file in.

Chairs and cushions
are arranged.
There is a deference here
a willingness to let be
as we walk away
from the crowded boulevards
of our thoughts.

The Quakers are silent
but I (damp and distracted)
fidget-
my mind still toppling over
its own baggage.

The hall drips slowly
into meditation

and the peonies-

the big, bold, flamboyant peonies,
they keep the peace
like the bouncers of heaven.











(C) Eric Ashford July 08