Would it make you sad to know
I don’t remember much about you
except your sweet, old-lady smell;
your collection of tiny, ornate perfume bottles
that so impressed me; hand-in-hand
walks to Mosquito Park; the inhuman patience
that let you hold a peppermint in your mouth,
without crunching, until it disappeared?
Would it make you sad to know I remember
more vividly, in the summer of your death,
slipping my hand in the open crack of a screen door,
wrapping my small fingers around a gold bell
and, in the clumsiness of my panicked getaway,
losing it amid the clovered trench?
This poem was written in response to Poetry Prompt #116: the time of your life on Read Write Poem.
Do you have a friend or relative who you can barely remember because s/he died when you were very young? What do you remember about him or her?