The scent of patchouli always brings her back to me.
Her hair long, a deep brown with gray strands,
Laugh lines that framed her lips,
Reaching from nostrils to chin.

She loved lemons and raw broccoli
Together in a salad she made for lunch,
Ending with a ceremony of hibiscus tea
And a small piece of chocolate.

She went to Paris.
Wrote me twice.
Invited me to come and stay.
Come and see the Seine, she said.

I didn’t go.
A deep regret.
Yet…
The scent of patchouli always brings her back to me.

One thought on “The Scent of Patchouli by Kimberly Bouchard

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