Morning Glory Vine
–Ann Iverson
One year
as late as October
it crawled its tangled
journey
up the cyclone fence
the trellis archway
the apple tree
was eye
to eye
with us
in our
second-story bedroom.
We talked about it often,
our own flag of red apple and blue glory.
For how could we have
ignored the beauty
which followed us
that year
we
married in July?
