It is early evening
But I, reading about the midnight watch
My nostrils of a sudden caressed
By the subtle scent of rose petals

Begin to dream of my Lola*
Who faithfully prayed the Rosary
Every night, in the dark of night
In her corner of the bedroom
Every night, without fail
‘Til she no longer remembered how.

She has been gone many years, now
But her memory once again graces my mind
With the freshness of the winter flowers
I laid by the Blessed Virgin statue

On Jan 19, 2007.

*Tagalog for the endearment “grandma.”

© 2017, Dorothy Long Parma

One thought on “Grandmother

  1. There is almost something magical about recalling memories because of a scent or sound, etc. It’s like being in two places or times at once. Thanks for sharing your poem with us this month. 🙂


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