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2 years ago

The Way Smell Evokes Memory

            On a hot summer afternoon, after a day of playing in the sun but before retiring to play video games, my mother would always shower. She loved spending time with us on those rare free days when all five of her girls were home, and she wasn’t working one of many jobs she held down simultaneously to provide. Our job was to set the living room up, since she didn’t understand and wasn’t willing to learn how to work the equipment. She would emerge in a puff of steam and a waft of perfume. Unwilling to wear shorts outside, those days she was even willing to don a light summer nightdress. We each peeled off at different times in the night, smart enough and independent enough to dictate our own bedtimes. With a yawn, I’d announce my departure. My mother was never short on hugs, pulling me in and holding me, understanding of the importance of that contact. Rich vanilla and rose and a creamy, heavy shea butter: the last things I’d smell for the night.

            When riffling through the cabinet before moving out, I discovered the exact lotion she would use. Her ‘yes’ when I asked to take it was distracted, unaware of the significance. Although, I don’t use it much.


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2 years ago

Snow on Poetry Lane

Down University Avenue,

            Past the Cub Foods

            And the Caribou coffee

Lies Poetry Lane

The words are etched

            Onto immoveable concrete

            A community’s love bared to the world

Yet the sky tests the citizens,

            Opening a flurry of thick flakes

            Fitting to the compressed letters

            Slowly taking up space.

The prose stands out in white

            Glittering under streetlamps

            And porch lights.

Feet clad protectively shuffle along the lane

Pausing at the words

            Before stepping

                        Unreading

                                    Packing the snow in deeper.

Gobs of white yet fall

Burying Poetry Lane

            Burying the hearts of those

            Brave enough to cement the truth

Until one gloved hand

Warmly brushes aside the blanket

            Shedding light on the community, and

            Poetry Lane, at least for a moment.


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