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

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