Honeysuckle
It sprang up wild along the chain link fence—thick,
with glorious white
and yellow summer blooms, and green tips that we
pinched and pulled for one
perfect drop of gold honey. But Dad hated
it—hated its lack
of rows and containment, its disorder. Each
year, he dug, bulldozed,
and set fire to those determined vines. But each
year, they just grew back
stronger. Maybe that's why I felt the urge to
plant it that one day
in May, when cancer stepped onto my front porch
and rang the doorbell,
loose matches spilling out of its ugly fists.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2010 by Karla K. Morton, “Honeysuckle,” from Accidental Origami: New and Selected Works, (Texas Review Press, 2016). Poem reprinted by permission of Karla K. Morton and the publisher.