Joy

 

is like your grandmother's perfume. It's
powdery and flush with flowers, redolent
of dashing flappers and immense sun hats on
California beaches. It lingers in her rooms
and snuggles in the deep white fur of the
coat she left you. Inside the jewelry box, 
too. You wish you could buy a bottle—if
only someone could tell you its name. If
only you know whom to ask.



                —Tiffany Lee Brown


Excerpted from A Compendium of Miniatures, prose poems by Tiffany Lee Brown. Tiger Food Press, Portland, 2007.