They coveted your
sweetness, wrenched
you from Japanese soil.
In their New England homes,
they cinched your slender
limbs with jute, latched
you to trellises.
You bore the heft
of summer’s glare,
as the wealthy lounged
under your fragrant shade.
Clamping around English
tea rose and maple, you now
flourish in soil you’ve claimed.
As you twist through the Heart-
land like a sweet blade,
muttered curses drop
dark and heavy
on your tender leaves.
O, Sister. You reach
for me, tendrils laden
with sweet blooms.
Their golden shade echoed
in my cheeks, our roots
extending from breached
soil.
When they leer
and ask where I’m from,
lift my weary head,
revive me with your nectar.
Let me press my face
into your open petals.
With your fragrance,
remind me of why I came.
