The Scent of Poetry - by Jen
spring plowing done – /
the scent of oil and hot dust /
in grandpa’s workshop //
©Jen
***********
hair, face powdered, she
white as chalk screech squeaking -
smelled of used spent dust
any moment she’d become
a ghost - brittle like stale bread
hollow odor of
chiseled rock becoming grains
of bitter sea salt
a first grade teacher who seemed
to disliked us young children
especially me
spit polished and shined by love
from the sheriff's wife
ivory soap washed, me in
line dried clothes ironed neat -
- I called her grama
who made room for me at her
table in her home
(until father remarried
a replacement for his loss)
because I was her
son’s daughter, her aroma
was of sweeter talc
©JP/davh
I too had a less-than-nice teacher -- second grade - I think she hated us. Ugh.
ReplyDeleteBrittle like stale bread is extremely powerful here, too -- and the scent of Ivory soap -- such memories, powerful memories, even if they are painful-- thank you for sharing them with us.
an exquisite piece (Y)
ReplyDeleteEach one just gets better and better, love especially the last one:)
ReplyDeleteLovely scents, great writing. I remember the scent of talc with lily of the valley. Reminds me of my gran.
ReplyDeleteThe smell of soap.. such a story this tells... your memoirs in scents.. you went very deep into the prompt
ReplyDeleteA whiff of talc conjures up memories for me too!
ReplyDeleteA Whiff of Autumn
I like that you included several memories of important people from your childhood. You have me wondering if I could remember scents associated with a person. Enjoyed your poem, a lot.
ReplyDeleteA wonderful journey....:)
ReplyDeleteWe live through our noses. You especially so, it seems.
ReplyDeleteI am amazed at how you conveyed so many experiences in a few words... Love it!
ReplyDeleteChanel # 5 will always remind me of my mom. Aqua Velva my grandfather. Scents are powerful triggers.
ReplyDeleteThis is really evocative and "harsh" Juls ---paints a wonderful picture of starkness and yet, the softness too. I can almost smell the lined-dried clothes ironed crisply.
ReplyDeleteWell done :)
Beautiful poem Jules ....
ReplyDeleteThank you. We are forever wanting to remember the best, yet we are all of the past as well.
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