the lilacs still cling to the corners of my mind,a ghost of my lovely childhood in my grandmother’s kitchen,where laughter simmered along with blackeyed peas and ham and fresh biscuits

I remember her hands kneading dough while the rain tapped like pellets against the window; now their dining room sits with empty chairs,their silence shows in the absence of stories and uncooked meals

Then one day long ago, the Houses sold, and all that’s left are faded photographs and the bare walls are now unmoored from memory and the beautiful lilacs once heavy and sweet, now are only whispers of love long dead

My joy once spilled out like Sunday gravy after I tipped the sauciere; now everything has been tarnished by death and time, much more by all that remains unsaid

My beautiful memories of warmth, her singing hymns while she worked,the lilacs blooming outside, but now their beauty is as sharp as the dreadful ache in my heart knowing the past is a place I can no longer visit

Oh, the lilacs
the weight of seasons
the bittersweet dance of joy and sorrow