City Spring, 1978 — A Monday Haiku

On Avenue H
Near a Brooklyn chainlink fence
Honeysuckle grew

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My grandmother sat
On a bench nearby and talked
I breathed in sweetness

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Up from the asphalt
This wild aromatic bush
Offered me pleasure

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Soft scent, cold metal

Caressed the tip of my nose

Reaching through the wire

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I must have been eight
Two springs after Pop had died
The memory stays

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Near cigarette butts

And broken beer bottles

Hope bloomed on the vine