December 15, 2018

Lavender

posted on: Friday November 30, 2018

by Gabriela Baron ’20

Every morning I visit your home, the garden. My watering can hovers over your head, the refreshing droplets drip down your neck. I pat down your bed, my hands sinking into the soil. You are my patient and I, your caretaker. I make sure that you’re healthy, that your vibrant hue doesn’t pale.

***

Daily stress and worries are embossed on each page of my planner. I scribble my black sharpie over each item but the curved letters peek through, taunting me with their permanence. I squeeze three drops of your essential oil into my diffuser. You swim leisurely in the shallow water bath. When I take in your calming perfume my shoulders relax, my breathing slows, and I can finally rest my bloodshot eyes. Your soothing energy surrounds me, diffusing the sparks of my anxiety. Your moisture tames the flame.

***

Our skin is rough and parched. My body shakes from the frigid air. I prepare my ingredients: two pieces of woven cloth, dried jasmine rice, and your frosted hair. With a needle and thread, I stitch my homemade heating pad together. It twists and molds around my body, melting into the fibers of my skin. I burrow deep into my bed and place the microwaved creation in between my arms, hoping to capture the familiar fragrance. I curl my back, my body like a bulb soaking in your warm sunshine. I am your patient and you, my caretaker.

***

…but where will you be in the spring? Will I find you in the Royal Alcázar of Seville? Should I look for you in the Boboli gardens of Florence? During high tea in London? Baked inside the puff pastries of Paris? Or shall I take a train to L’Occitane? And if I don’t find you, will you still recognize me?

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Prose Poetry