I remember the smell of sunlight
upon my mother’s alabaster arms
that distinct scent which lingered
behind
long after she died
that scent which clung
to her hair clips and scarves
jewelry and jackets
and remained on her albums
and photos like fingerprints.
It’s been almost ten years
since I’ve smelled that scent,
so I was startled when
I smelled her return
just the other day
as I was lying face down
with my eyes closed.
I felt her reaching towards me
and a wave of reassuring comfort
accompanied that gesture
like a silent score.
Just as I was about to question
all this
I heard her whisper “ange”
as in angel without the L,
which was her name for me.
There was a natural impulse
even a longing
to move towards her but
an equally strong reflex
to pull back.
And in that halting, jerking
whiplash of a moment
I realized
this is how it was
for my younger me.
How she wanted to go towards
and take comfort in
but she had to retreat
and protect herself from.
- Lauren Taub Cohen
