For twenty-two dollars I can wear the scent that is my grandfather.
Silky lotion in a black tube.
Arsenic, a drop of poison returns me to childhood and a certain morning light.
Of summer and sleepovers and waking to the bubble and hiss of the percolator.
There is milk with coffee and sugar, brimming in a dainty cup scattered with roses.
There is tobacco from a tin and pipe smoke, heady, sweet, and fruity.
An ocean of traffic, wave after wave in our ears.
We are there, together and separate, cosy on flowered cushions.
A plaid robe and pink nightgown, slippers and bare toes.
No words spoken, no words needed, hearts filled with love.
Tags: My Poetry