Hibiscus

When she comes to sleep late night,

And I, half asleep, smell her presence,

It is that oil that gives her up.

Hair by hair

Like roots of trees entangled,

the smell comes down,

drips and trips softly.

It brings memories of forgotten stories

And tales that I learned

and unlearned.

It brings stories that my grandmother

had woven on winters

along with the woolen she never finished.

Her hair

brings me the comfort of the sun-clad sweater

I never wore

and the toothless smile of my grand mother

as I fall deep

through an empty ladder

where only scent that remains is

Of hibiscus

and a muddy, earthy courtyard that is no more.