Posted by: ktzefr | April 12, 2017

The Migration of a Lilac

Lilacs; Photo:KFawcett


My grandparents raised five kids

in a wood frame house off a dirt road

up a hollow in Appalachia. 

They grew corn and potatoes,

tomatoes and beans, in a valley between

the hills where a wide meadow stretched

all the way to the river.


What did those kids do with their long

summer days?  What did they dream?

Did they ever wonder what life was like

on the other side of the mountain?


Some left, some stayed, some came back.

For a long time after the house fell,

the pear tree still stood in the back yard.

The poplar up on the mountain, the one with

my parents’ initials carved into its thick trunk,

still stands almost a century later.


Granny’s lilac bush lives five hundred miles away

from the place where it was planted. 

As a twig, it migrated to the city in my mother’s suitcase,

and blooms, again, in my front yard.




  1. Lovely! I can smell that lilac.

    Sent from my iPad


    • Thanks for reading, Mayla! I expect to see pictures soon of all the stuff blooming on your lovely farm in the mountains. 🙂

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