Nana's Perfume
Tea bags and wet dog, crossword ink on fingertips.
Chocolate biscuit wrappers, garden pond algae.
Hairspray that held those curly grey locks in place. Regal.
Scents mixed and shaken,
ground and stirred – a dusting of her
that wafts through air like a time
machine, shuttling me back to a
bowling alley, a country show digging
up worms. A couch that sighed Scottish
stories from tartan cushions. Vegetable broth.
I’d bottle it. I’d use it sparingly.
Red carpet occasions only.
Or for our backyard patio boardgames.
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