scent memory


As if I could summon spring to stay with me

with an oven-bloomed waft of lemon and ginger,

leave this chill winter with one last dusting,

powdered sugar licked from my fingers.

As if I could pull from the earth

the buds of my mother’s quarter century Graham Thomas

with the tame sweetness of this grocery-store bundle,

sunshine in cellophane.

As if, if I stood again in that red clay where I grew,

I could divide, clippers in hand,

which stem the wounds came from,

and which one

the words.


Stretching toward spring with all my might

and with the prompts at Write ALM


5 thoughts on “scent memory

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