Silvia Kofler
Member-at-Large
My neighbor hates its invasiveness
and lopped off as much as
she could on her side of the fence.
However, birds love it and
sparrows moved into the birdhouse
beneath its canopy.
Hummingbirds flock to its fiery
orange blooms in July.
I remember the trumpet vines
climbing up the railing
next to Father’s balcony swing
at his home in Austria.
I noticed their beauty
and he announced:
You should recognize it,
it is an American plant.
Sorting through
old photographs
I look at his image on the balcony
of the house I sold after his death
and love the vine even more.
What a lovely way to remember your father–a delicate memory, a delicate poem–brought me right back to my parents’ lilac bushes–thank you for doing that.
What a lovely poem. It makes the trumpet vine, your father, and your relationship with him and the trumpet vine endearing. Thank you for sharing your love for both.
A delicate poem, yet the words “fiery orange” and “trumpet” lends their power to the strength of remembrance.
I like the contrast of the vine, considered an invasive pest by the neighbor, yet evoking nostalgic memories for you. Lovely last lines.
wonderful, touching, quite a tribute
A beautiful vine that grows in two continents returns to the poet memories of her father.
A lovely remembrance!
Isn’t it nice when something like a flower helps us remember loved ones. I do that same think with tiger lilies, which Mom grew outside her kitchen window on the farm. I never see a tiger lily that I don’t think of Mom.