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Glenn G. Coats

Scent of Lilac

I hold her, after she lifts and stretches patients, fluffs pillows, fills in for a missing family member, explains a rare condition, tops up glasses with ice and water, updates medical records, and makes someone laugh. I hold her after she finishes her three to eleven shift; rushes out to her yellow VW, showers at her apartment, changes, then climbs back into the car.

I hold her, after she drives the four lane, watches for deer in the moonlight, sings louder than the radio, after she leaves the highway and slows through country roads.

I hold her after all the lights are out, and she parks beside her parents’ house. Chickens settle down in their coops; hounds curl in beds of leaves.

I hold her until night passes, and engines start in the distance. Horses bow their heads, cows saunter toward the barn, and the last of moonlight shakes from her hair.

dogwood blossoms
she closes her eyes
to listen

sun catchers
one last touch
of her hand

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About the Author

Glenn G. Coats lives with his wife, Joani, in Carolina Shores, North Carolina. His recent collections are Degrees of Acquaintance (Snapshot Press, 2019), a collection of haibun, and Furrows of Snow (Turtle Light Press, 2019), which won an honorable mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards.