Peonies for Mom

I

I pace back and forth, holding peonies in my hand. 

Beads of sweat roll down my temples, burning my eyes. 

Sweeping my hand across my brow, I stop to face her. 

Taking a deep breath in, I begin.

"I'm gay, and I'm your son. 

Neither of those things are going to change. 

Okay? 

So, let's deal with that!

 Please...let's talk".

 I question my words, "Think that's okay mom?"

 I sweep leaves off the top of the gravestone 

and place the peonies down, 

"I wish you were here; 

you would have loved me for me. 

I just hope he does too". 

***