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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #829266 added September 27, 2014 at 7:03pm
Restrictions: None
Lavender
The smell of lavender helps me remember my grandmother who used to purchase lavender plants from a gypsy woman who used to knock on the door and offer us her wares. My grandmother used to fill the dried purple flowers in sachets and put those sachets in my drawers, so my underclothes and whatever else was there would smell nice.
The scent of lavender also makes me recall my grandmother's housedresses, loose with dainty flowers, and her tatting laces for my dresses and her knitting me sweaters. I remember her as always being busy with something. Even so, she made time for me to tell me stories of our family, of people long gone, and she was never idle.
Although, she bought the lavender flowers from the gypsy, my grandmother used to enjoy raising roses of all kinds in the backyard. Yet, it wasn't their thorns that bothered her, but the tiny green caterpillar pests on the plants. My mother and I used to inspect the plants for caterpillars before Grandma would come into the garden. Once she found a tiny one, which somehow had escaped our sight, and she had a fit. She jumped on a garden chair and was stomping her feet and shaking all over. That was, probably, the only time I saw her lose it and was afraid of her.
Afterwards, when she had calmed down and she embraced me and stroked my hair, her hands smelled of lavender, and I knew everything would be all right. Her hands were old woman's hands, but they felt soft and warm and they pacified me.
Now I am the one with the old woman's hands, and I am more into lemons and lemony scents, but I am not afraid of caterpillars.
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Prompt: The _______________ helps me remember. I don't
what helps you but I would like to know....
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