lavender

I used to pick lavender from the garden

waiting until evening when the bees had gone away

for in the daytime all the sweet colorful things belonged to them

especially the lavender

“I love the smell of lavender”

he said

gathering a fistful to his nose

letting the scent smother his senses

he was a forgein man

friendly to all but only keeping friends with his own kind

allegedly

even in this foreign land

but he was a kind man who always kept wrinkles

gathered beside his eyes

“I buried a hatchet it’s coming up lavender”

she sang

the notes rang on the membrane of my mind

propelling me up over choppier waters

like a water skeeter

too light to sink

The lavender crept over the driveway

untamed

I admired its ability to escape

to creep away

but remain

gathered and strong

She sipped lavender up her straw

The tall buildings did not judge her but in their gargantuan silence

shielded her

people in the city are always watching each other

but not

with the judging eyes over white suburban picket fences

but with detatched interest

we have both ended up here

but we both wonder

how?

She sipped lavender up her straw

admiring how she had begun to creep away

from all that had scared her