Fleeting (2014)
Like aromatic sandpaper, my father—
his cheeks, rough and unfamiliar.
How I wished we lived together,
waking up from a dream.
Distant, his smell was the first to arrive,
his lips hit my cheeks.
Thinking how much I missed him,
the smell would linger after he left.
My father left early each morning
to earn a living and respect.
When I unpacked after spending summers—a flash of musk—
he knew along with me it would be a year.
I think his smell filled that room even when I was gone.
How alone I was, away from him
his choices had been made in life and that day, alone
like a lingering familiar memory: my father.
