“Scent Memory” by Karen George

197 Replies

At the grocery checkout, I’m behind a woman
who wears Lily of the Valley perfume.
I haven’t grown the plant in twenty years,
but it’s a fragrance I’ve never forgot.
One stalk of white third-inch blooms
shaped like bells perfumed our entire house.

I so wanted the underground rhizomes to spread.
They blossomed in late spring, the leaves died
in winter, but never came back.
Maybe the niche I chose
supplied too much sun
or the clay soil I amended
failed to yield needed drainage.

I close my eyes and inhale,
recall the pleasure
of those three weeks—
to arrive home, mount the porch steps
near the pointed twin green blades,
the flowers that glowed, released
their most intense scent at dusk,
to enter our home,
detect their alluring aura,
as I call your name.

-Karen George

197 thoughts on ““Scent Memory” by Karen George”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *