ODE Poem: Ode to Grandma’s Daylilies, by R.H. Nicholson

Grandma grew daylilies
along the east side
of the Jordan Drive house,
and every day in June they
bloomed like little orange
firework bursts,
their faces uplifted to the sun,
a single day of life,
brilliant, bright, vibrant,
a marmalade retinue of glorious buds
peeled back like tangerine rind,
fluttering in the early summer breeze,
hapless but happy.
They were the backdrop of my
halcyon days:
tossing that speckled ball
fished from a wire cage
at the Ben Franklin,
sloshing in the little inflatable pool,
dodging that long, green snake of a hose,
plucking and munching garden tomatoes,
corralling crickets
into mayonnaise jars,
riding on Grandpa’s lap
aboard the lawnmower,
cutting across that emerald acre,
resplendent,
unburdened,
sated.
And so, I have transplanted
their ocher progeny
in the eastern corner of my home,
their faces upturned to the same sun,
too-brief lives splendid
and pure,
and each June morning
when I gaze upon their enclave
at the foot of the screened porch,
they whisper to me,
not in words
but echoes
of continuity,
souvenirs
of the continuum,
remembrances
of the infinity
of my daylily childhood

Author: poetryfest

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