Herbs (Notevember 2020, #7)

I remember the smell of my grandmother’s kitchen
Remember the scent of my grandfather’s beard
I remember the perfume, so stark and bewitching
Of garlic and savory steaks being seared

I remember the tea brewed from something called tilia
The counter with thyme leaves that time had forgot
To me, herbs are less spices, more memorabilia
I cook with them sometimes – I smell them a lot

Her birth name was Rosemary (she preferred Rosie)
Her second was Lavender (that one was fine)
Her pantry was stocked and her living room cozy
With fireplace fragrance and bottles of wine

A Laurel by marriage, what could be more fitting?
Together they made quite the bouquet garni
She made grandpa pick up a habit of knitting
“If she does the cooking,” he said, “fine by me!”

So grandma made dinner and grandpa made sweaters
While handing out secrets for love – sage advice
“She puts lavender oil in my beard, and I let her”
“She likes it, not me (though it makes it smell nice)”

She said there’s a magic to smell and to flavor
And when the hereafter intrudes and disturbs
Protection will linger if scent doesn’t waver —
So I hang my rafters with grandmother’s herbs