The Smell of Lilac
I would be creeped out, Lucilla said.
Making me wish I had not mentioned their visits.
Glad I had stopped myself when I did.
They are not frightening, I told her.
Spirits comfort me, they are proof that life goes on.
How can it? She asked me. Dead is dead.
Not recognizing that flesh death is no death at all.
Sometimes her absolutist mind frightens me.
There is no opening for possibilities or new ideas.
She is stuck in the tradition of a family who forgot to think in their youth.
My grandmother giggles in my ear, reading my mind.
The smell of lilac verifies her presence.
I don’t know what I would do if a ghost talked to me, Lucilla said.
Can I please bite her on the leg? Grandma asked.
I could not stop laughing.
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