Katrina Kaye

It wasn’t
her perfume.

her kitchen,
a hazy dream,

She cooked with it
sometimes,

her scent,
a comfort,

picked it fresh from the
backyard where

an embrace,
soft needles folded

a giant bushel grew
beside other tiny

easily against skin,
the drizzle of rain,

emerging plants,
sage, basil, thyme.

the essence triggers
a reminder of her face,

On occasion,
after a sweet rain,

a misshaped smile
long after her absence.

the backyard would
fill with the sweet smell.

“Rosemary” was previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).