Last week I took my daughters to the Botanical Garden of New York to see the Emily Dickinson: Poetry of Flowers exhibition.  Emily D. was a huge gardener. She spoke the language of flowers and wrote hundreds of poems about the plants in her own garden.  The Botanical Garden has posted huge posters of Emily’s poems near the flowers and trees she wrote about. My kids enjoyed the exhibit, wandering around looking for people dressed in garden-themed clothing. They weren’t as pleased when I made them recite the poems out loud for all the passersbys to hear.  Inside the conservatory they’ve created a mini-Emily Dickinson house and garden. Again, there were poems related to the things she grew.

My personal favorite was a little poem about a little flower that we grow in our community garden plot.

I am alive — I guess —
The Branches on my Hand
Are full of Morning Glory —
And at my finger’s end – The Carmine —

There’s a lot more to the poem, but I get stuck on the morning glories. They seem like such a lovely metaphor for Emily’s work, although not her life.  The plant is easy to grow. It tenaciously finds a hold for each tendril and keeps seeking, searching for more. It will grow out or up or even under (as their neighbors, my onions, have reason to know). They bloom only when no one is looking. 

Here are my morning glories:

Are there any morning glories in your garden?