Scent of Lilacs

She dismissed the scent of lilacs
As just another cliche,
For strong, sweet perfumes
Only tempted silly women,
The kind who devoured
Cheap paperbacks and cried
On the rough, greasy pages.

Lilacs also reminded her
Of wrinkled scarves around
Parchment necks of laughing
Old women, drinking pots of
Steaming, oversteeped tea,
Eating crumbly cakes at tables
Draped in faded chintz.

She brushed aside memories
Of those laughing ladies and
Cheap paperback books,
All shoved now into closets
With voices no longer familiar
And faces fuzzy like dreams
That evaporate in morning.

She had locked all of it away,
But that lilac scent persisted,
Strong, sweet, fresh,
Creeping through her cracked window,
Dancing on afternoon winds,
Throwing open the closets
Flooding the gray with light.