The lilac show

The lilacs wave to me
as I wash last night’s dirty pans.

I wait for this show to begin every year. Typically,
I barely catch the opening number and the curtain falls
as I’m rushing off to catch the train,
gulping down the scented air on my way to the car.

This year I’m home for the entire act. Still,
I mourn the heady perfumed blossoms
as soon as they swell. I’m standing at the sink
every early morning, lunch, clean up
to take them in, but
they are already on their way out.

For 18 years,
this private, little wave hello
has always been
goodbye.


© 2020 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni