Today marks 32 years since my father died, and naturally my thoughts traveled to memories of him. In 1997, while biking past an elderly gentlemen who was smoking a cigar, the wafting fumes exploded within me recollections of Dad, who also smoked the same brand of cigar. As I continued to bike, words flew through my head compelling me to stop and jot them down. After returning home, I typed them into the computer, and the next day, with minimal revision, I had this poem:
Father-scents
Memories erupt from depths long unplumbed
while biking past an elderly walker with
father-scent emanating between gnarled fingers:
sweet, reminiscent cigar smoke,
rich, tasty, distinctive, redolent with childhood images.
Two miles on, other smell-memories ripple,
then cascade, through consciousness.
Cheerful smells of hair tonic and Old Spice
and scents evincing workshop memories
of sawdust, electric motors, carbide wheels, oil, glue.
Then pungent smells, less palatable, less comforting,
but no less unrelenting,
of beer breath, sweat, sickness, death.
Father-scents evoking father-remembrances
as if they were yesterday, not yesteryear.
A pity two adult decades traveled
before childhood father-scent memories
returned home.
copyright Chuck Morlock 1997
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