The Scent A faint jasmine scent remains on the collar of her blue silk dress. Every time he enters, the cabinet door squeaks a hinged lament. The empty sleeves rise towards the window, to the shadows the jasmine plant embroiders on the pane, the same it cast on her face when she died.
Paula Grenside's Questions:
Scent persistent in memory, so deepy
to recreate the past. Does it happens to the reader
while reading the poem?
Is the image of the image of the sleeves too much,or does it work?