Archive
01/05/09 - (2)
The Lilac Tree
Tonight, I smell the pungent, swelling scent of a lilac tree, The one that flowered beside my parents' house. It seduces my nostrils, throat, lungs, my slowing spirit,
With the exhilarating sensuality of rain-forest exotics (Orchids, hibiscuses, gardenias, frangipanis) — Penetrant memories of my eleventh year,
When our family of four moved, in 1951, From the city, to a secluded country estate, Choosing quiet streets, wooded acres, over a subdivision.
Oh, it seems so very long ago When my mother planted that volunteer lilac sprig She'd brought from our duplex's backyard,
Where my younger sister and I, an energetic boy, Survived the Krauts and the Japs, during World War II, While our father silently made his fortune,
Supplying uniforms to the U.S. Army, By gaining access to impossible-to-get greige goods Available to those with the right New York connections,
During those austere years of America's rationing, When, doing her part to safeguard family and country, My mother tended her Victory garden and the lilac tree.
Why, tonight, in the dead of winter, I'm smelling that swelling scent, I well know: It's that boy, calling me back from my flowerless hours.
01/05/09 - (2)
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