a poem a day for a year #46

the top of his head

smells like all of my memories


like instant coffee and a grandfather who died too early

like folk music in the seventies

like coal dust on his feet

in Appalachian hills


the spoon circling the mug

pass the sugar bowl little girl

and I would climb across the cool laminate kitchen table

bring him all the things he needed with my fat hands

sweet white coffee and

my blonde hair like silly straw

he could never resist me

leaning over and inhaling the top of my head

like someone stops to lean into a flower

in a forest


and now I do it all day long with my small person

all day long

a pause

a need

I am becoming the past