She always said lilacs were her favorite
A poem by Lisa Cooper
By Lisa Cooper Posted in Poetry on January 28, 2022 0 Comments 1 min read
The Summer When My Dog Died Previous Platforms, Public Art, and a New Imagination for Social Media Next

I clipped the lilac sprigs, stems thick in hand:
thin delicate pink chasms swell—expand.
Her cheeks dim lit, distant in photos tacked
upon the board above her ashes packed

into a tin that seemed too small to fit
her body. So confusing—white and grit.
The scent of flowers carried in the air
bloomed, lingered there, as if my silent prayer.


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