The wind rises,
and with it the scent;
this is how I imagine purple would smell.
No one else notices the faint
whiff, the subtle exploration
of fragrance through the air.
I close my eyes; the thin stem;
almost like an arrow, widening
at the top.
The tiny petals dance
A box; I remember.
I wear a small black vest over a white shirt.
Little black sandals with gold buckles and white socks;
my shirt tucked in.
Lavender lay down just like him;
My mum pulls me close,
Instinct so soft and tender
not to be released until the wind died down,
until the wisps of hair settle on her tired cheek
and the smell of lavender lingered