My mom believed in natural remedies: clove for pain and cedar for the cough.
The smells filled our house year-round and clung to her
better than the expensive perfumes she wore to cover the smell of sickness,
Our house smelled strong: of spice and sweet and living ghosts.
Slowly, slowly,
her favorite scents outlived her, and her memory began
before her breath left.
It left after Christmas, on the thirty-first, eleven fifty-one to be exact.
She almost made it to the next year, but shadows can only hang on for so long.
Her ghost lives in the shadows of Christmas lights,
and you can smell her in the trees,
clove and cedar bring her back,
if only for a little while.
YOU ARE READING
Dancing with Ghosts
PoetryA collection of poems coping with the juxtaposition of grief and beauty, pain and nostalgia, heart ache and celebrations. From breakups to losing a child, a parent, a friend, a sibling, I hope this little collection of poems helps someone out there...
