Bottles

I have a collection of precious bottles
of various sizes
each holds a memory of happy times.

They sit behind glass hiding their hues
holding a secret
to their age, contents.

Larger engraved ones, a forefinger high
were the first received,
once filled
with precious scents, gifted long ago.

The smallest– his last settles in my hand
matching
the curl of my fingernail, clear glass,

a tiny stopper still holds its scent.
I open it, breathe
reliving  days I wore it

with love.

Carolyn O’Connell
9/10/2024
 published in Reach Poetry January 2025issue 310

Please read and let me know if you like it.