Gardens of Roses
My grandmother visits me in the garden
as I cut dead limbs from the azalea
I can smell her soap and perfume
The love I once longed for
opens the pores on my arms
She knows there are roses
newly planted. The dirt turned over brown
wraps their roots in memoriam. In the hidden
chambers of my ears I hear her voice
calling “Leethie” and we smile
together through time
How lucky
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is nice to feel her presence from time to time, as we were not close while she was alive.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I have the exact same situation with my mother- maybe it’s a second chance
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think perhaps it is. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
A moving remembrance, Alethea.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Cynthia ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely, Alethea. The scent of roses as I planted them at Nicks this week took me back to my great granny’s garden and revivified many memories x
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s nothing that quite compares to the smell of roses, is there? Looking forward to seeing Nick’s garden someday. It really looks wonderful from the pictures. ❤
LikeLike
It will be gorgeous when it is done … he’s loving it ❤
LikeLike
Beautiful, Alethea… ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Bette ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person