A floral journey

For today, I challenge you to write a poem in which one or more flowers take on specific meanings.

My mother had told me, her sweet smile disappearing,
how when I was born my paternal grandmother,
with thin lips and cold eyes,
had visited her with a bunch of petunias and yellow carnations
showing her displeasure at the arrival
of a third grand-daughter in a row
my sweet father, ever the obedient son,
presented my mom with a honeysuckle,
when gran was not looking,
it was a bit crushed and wilted
as it was on a standby, hidden in his pocket
but my mom pressed it lovingly to her bosom
I grew up watching mom watering wild flowers
which sprouted with gay abandon around our home,
no weed was removed, no ornamental flower planted
she would adorn our home with shiuli (night jasmine)
which had fallen in the morning
blooming under the benign light of the moon
My beloved, a man of few words and fewer extravaganzas,
gave me a red rose when we were betrothed
I wore jasmine in my hair on my wedding day for him
when my daughter was born we planted hydrangeas
and on my son’s birth sunflowers
now as I look at each pressed flower
and am flooded with the memories associated
I write a note for my kids
to plant tuberoses in my remembrance.