MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Sword Posta by Lisa Shea

Table of Contents

Poetry


Old Scents

Grace Dion

When my father hung his suitcoat
on the hall tree,
it smelled of George’s Sandwich Shop:
it smelled of the world.

At Christmas my Swedish grandfather
smelled of potent after-shave ---
bay rum? A festive scent,
exciting, with promise.

My other grandfather’s house smelled
of old cigarette smoke and dust
mixed with cantaloupe, the only food he stored,
other than Coca-Cola.

The small-town bank he owned
Smelled of chewed and spat tobacco,
of money, of metal, of maleness.
And safety.

All gone now, though at times a wisp
of one wafts by, and the present gapes,
and the past engulfs.




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