Poem for My Niece Feasting on Honeysuckle

Samuel Day Wharton

that scraggly plant we claimed
from some poor man’s overburdened
yard

(his wife had passed
& he could not take any more care
was moving to St Louis

to be near his daughter)
sat in an overcrowded pot for a year
not blooming or growing

but hanging on
then became part of our long
backyard overhaul

(the better part of two springs
& a fall
digging, shaping, hauling horse-

shit in the work truck)
to reward our efforts now explodes
against a chunk

of the back fence
pulling in more than its share
of bees & hummers

you are not afraid

& walk right through the blooming myoporum
to the buzzing mass
of flowers

I pull one free, bright
yellow & sun-warm
pinch & pull its thread

& pop the tiny drop into your mouth
your smile then is a radical act
there is nothing more important than

another flower & another & another until
there is no place in the world that is not littered
with those fragrant remains