by Maralee Gerke

Our neighborhood is old,
middle class and half empty,
but in every yard
there are lilacs.

This is the magical year
when rains came. The temperatures
were just right and no frost
shriveled the emerging buds.

Now the lilacs are blooming.
A springtime bounty
Draping over fences,
arching above driveways

in every color from lavender
to deep purple, all the old unnamed
varieties. The double blooms
and single blooms.

They perfume the whole street,
begging to be held
close to noses
that ache for the scent of spring.


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