One small bag
was all she brought
to spend the night at my house
I peered into her room
She sat in silence
on the foot
of the bed
She had been there
for almost an hour
dressed in her khaki pants
and flowery pullover shirt
Each time I checked on her
she was still sitting there
sorting through items
in her little bag
over and over
pondering each item
as if to make sense of it
A comb, a brush, her precious lipstick
(Every Southern lady must own a lipstick)
a change of clothes
undergarments
a light cotton nightgown
a sweater
She was always cold
no matter what the season
I convinced her to change into her nightgown
She seemed to linger forever in the bathroom
Half an hour to change into a simple gown
Half a year to change into a different person
When at last she opened the door
and appeared in the hallway
dressed for bed
a soft perfume followed her
Lavender and jojoba
from my bottle of lotion
on the counter
She’d rubbed some
on her hands and face
I hope it brought her comfort
and gave her peaceful sleep
Even now I keep
the half-empty bottle
on my writing desk
Sometimes I open the bottle
to release its luxurious scent
and for a moment
its fragrance brings
her back to me.
Published on Facebook
Mother’s Day
May 12, 2019
Published here today for Sarah