The yeasty smell of flour,
vanilla, rich and cinnamon
hidden in the seams
of her starched
but work worn apron.
my face so often pressed
enfolded by her ardent hugs
metallic scents of vintage oil
the whiffs of new mown grass
and cow manure
suffused his overalls
the greying bristles of his beard
chafed my cheeks.
and rough denim pockets
spilled surprises
while he chuckled
A radiating warmth
spread from her oven
always brimming with promises
a ruffled curtain
fluttered at the window
of my Aunt Ruth’s kitchen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem