Lilac-scented grandmother memories,
How her face lit up when we arrived, tired from hours of driving.

White hair tightly curled and steel cat-eye glasses above her beaming smile.
We walked in Mill Creek Park, enjoying the sun and flowers at Fellows Garden.
My photographs have turned yellow and orange, faded like my memories.

Pink and purple lilac stars shine now as they did then,
Sitting on her warm lap, wrapped in soft arms, hearing flower names.

From her, I learned the names of roses, lilacs, impatiens and daisies.
She taught me to tell time on the face of her nurse’s watch.

I remember when she seemed so tall, and then I grew taller still.
She loved powdering her face, sharing conversation and keeping her home tidy.
She peppered her conversations with the word, “evidently,”
A word gone from fashion, like her name, Dorothy.

I remember how she loved spring flowers and touring gardens.
I still do that every year, and I miss her. Some aches are precious.

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham