Christmas smelled like tangerine,
fire placed and slowly peeled, while
waiting in a whiff of resin roast and firewood;
and from the woods a hint of moss and mulch.
The day before we’d cut the Christmas tree,
we brought moss and evergreens,
to green the grayness and our tables with…
Food was cooked and we had gingerbread.
Now it’s gone, we do not celebrate
the way with did, we ceased before
my father died, we sold the house now
only tangs of wood and tangerine brings back
the childhood and my innocence…
This — an incense of what once was home.
Today Gina hosts Poetics at dVerse, and she wants us to go back to smells that spells the deepest sense of safety for us. For me it’s probably Christmas we used to celebrate when I was a child in our Country House…
October 2, 2018