My Dad and I would go lilac hunting this time of year.
When white and purple petals bloomed along the water and
In the corners of backyards throughout the Seacoast, he’d grab
His garden shears and bundle me in one of his fraternity sweaters
Before setting off under the late spring’s navy sky.
Mom loves lilacs. She wanted them as her wedding flower, but lilac branches are
Left bare by mid-June when the ceremony was held at the church in town.
She compromised with a medley of wildflowers and white roses.
The lilac bush in our backyard did not reap enough to fuel Mom’s habit.
For the month of May, every countertop in our home had to be filled
With a bundle of lilac branches, pruned kindly from its host shrub.
When the well ran dry, Dad and I left home through the cellar door,
His shears shoved into a tote bag under a wad of beach towels.
Behind office buildings, in the park, along the church fence, and through
The cracks of rock piles on the shoreline were lilac blooms bigger than
Some oak trees. I kept watch while Dad snipped one branch after another,
Piling each sweet-smelling floral between my little arms.
We set off for home with enough lilacs to form a grove between the two of us.
My Dad loves my Mom more than I’ve ever seen two people possibly love each other.
I suppose I learned then that love makes thieves out of all of us.
Originally from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Caraline Shaheen is currently living in Boston and working towards her BFA in Creative Writing from Emerson College, class of 2026. Her work has been published in HYW’s 2025 Digital Magazine and the London Writers’ Salon’s “Writer’s Hour Magazine.”
Featured image by Valeria Bold on Unsplash.
