In Memory of Lena DuBois
I remember the fragrance of Cologne de Rose,
a breath of sweetness surrounding
me on those hot summer days, as I’d
walk the long rose-lined driveway
to the backdoor of my Grandmother’s house.
I’d walk through Grandma’s door
and there she would be, smiling and dribbling
love wherever a sad face dwelled. To me,
Grandma always smelled of wild roses,
their scent lingering, filling my senses,
like sweet sugar candy canes, a teasing
pleasure for a small child’s heart.
The memory of those roses still ripple
through my senses, echoing of yesterday,
even though Grandma’s timely gone.
When I am sad, filled with the ache
of missing her, I have only to close
my eyes and picture her smiling face.
Suddenly, like a yesterday never having passed
me by, my nose perks to the scent
of Cologne de Rose, spreading a tender,
loving hug of aroma across my heart. I
know then that Grandma is only a sniff
away, and I smile in spite of myself.
