Agua de Violetas by Didi Menendez Agua de Violetas ---------------------------- Agua de Violetas, my abuela would brush it through my hair, as she rocked me in the old Cuban chair. She sang to me about the marinero that jumped ship, as the cries of the peanut vendor, and the aroma of the toasty maniz entered through the breezy ventana. Abuelita visited me three days after her death, rested her heavy soul on my bed, I felt her breath brush up against my hair's long lost violetas fragrance one last time before going to her new Havana. My father's pride, Imperiale, sits on my dresser. He used to splash it on a white handkerchief. So now I let its scent sting my self esteem when I need to be reminded that I am the head of the family. NO. 5 is no longer my companion, divorce took it away, but at times, I still catch a Chanel whiff on garter belts and lace, as I rummage through my panty drawers. But now that you have arrived, Heaven Scent floats from my hair, as I lay my head on your chest, you tenderly play with my curls, the incense of new memories ignites violets and musk into the air.