Lavender 

I think of you in a pearly white dress, 

High heels and stockings, a bun in your hair. 

You made it impossible to overdress, 

And when you walked, lavender filled the air. 

When I was little, I’d sit at your feet 

And I would observe the way that you moved. 

Although my hair was never as neat, 

I always tried to be like you.

I was sitting with you one day in May, 

As you stood at the mirror, getting dressed. 

You unclipped your bun and let your hair sway, 

I thought my hair was nice, but yours was best. 

You then reached out to pick up a small glass

And sprayed its contents on your neck and wrists. 

“What is that, Nana?” I quietly asked,

And you turned and said, “try some, I insist.”

“Hold out your hand, and close your eyes tightly,” 

And I quickly did so, not thinking twice. 

A cold mist hit me, and I flinched slightly, 

But then, the room smelled familiar and nice. 

“Lavender perfume,” you said with a smile 

As the sun filled the room with a golden hue, 

And I held my wrist to my nose for a while, 

Hoping I’d never stop smelling like you.