Scented memories waft through the air.
Expectations widen the eyes of hope,
brushing away cobwebs from
the lost corners of time.
Synapses fire off as muted sounds
of distant voices manifest themselves
among the garbled words of blank faces.
History in reverse, snippets resurfacing,
if only for a moment.
That old chair seems familiar,
was it always there?
Grocery lists piled up on the table,
mixed in with last week’s mail.
Forgotten love letters reaching back
into the bottom drawers of an old credenza,
thread bare and finger worn.
Recollections play lost and found
in the recesses of shadowed dreams;
while the aromas of another time
make it all seem so close and real again,
if only for a short time.
The sweet memory of scent.
Lilacs on her grave
my mother’s last wish
an explosion of amethyst
emerging from her heart
the greenness of a spring
background now fading
as the widow’s bouquet
dies alongside her groom
resting against the marble stone
now my mother’s headboard
petals falling like the tears that
accompany my memory of her smile
sweet scented footsteps
through the garden
of a time so long ago
and my mother’s final words
“remember me when the lilacs bloom”
Ann Christine Tabaka was born and lives in Delaware. She is a published poet, an artist, a chemist, and a personal trainer. She loves gardening, cooking, and the ocean. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her poems have been published in numerous national and international poetry journals, reviews, and anthologies. Chris has been selected as the resident Haiku poet for Stanzaic Stylings.