June 19, 2020

The Honeysuckles are Ripe. {A Poem}

A smell so sweet

of memories deep.

Exuberant smiles,

cousins gathering and laughing.


Running along a wall of flora

the side of the block without houses.

A green boundary of safety

baring an early summer bounty.


An alluring aroma

with dainty flowers.

Pleasing our sight,

tickling noses in delight.


Picking each white thin pedal,

delicately peel away its base.

Tasting licks of nectar,

buzzing drunk.


A happy daze,

lazy summer ways.

Hearing nature’s whisper,

a language understood in childhood.


Barefoot in the grass,

knotted hair wild in the breeze.

Complete freedom,

satiated under a sunny sky.


Within that moment,

the scent drops me back

to Grandma’s house,

an innocence forgotten.


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Megan Zwerlein  |  Contribution: 11,815

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