Essence


I went there
The place where his essence still lives
It smells
Smells of nickel bags, the smoke from black and milds and basketball sneakers
It hangs from the ceilings and clings to old burgundy curtains
It blends with the mahogany of the chest of drawers
It’s present
In every stain, every scratch, every scent
It grabs hold of me
Forces me to stand still, to remember
The sound of the vacuum won’t drown out the voices
Wiping walls won’t scrub away the memories
No matter how many days go by
He’s there

Published as a part of

Poetry Potluck @ Jingle Poetry, Theme: Dreams, Visions & Reveries

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  1. Scent of my heart
    December 7, 2010 at 1:27 PM

    Very nice contribution to Potluck. Sadness rules over, it looks like only the scent of someone is still there … Nice words!

  2. Jingle
    December 7, 2010 at 1:46 PM

    apt words.
    masterful job…

    A+

  3. A.B. Thomas
    December 7, 2010 at 10:38 PM

    It’s sometimes far worse when memories don’t wipe away. Fantastic write

    • December 8, 2010 at 9:08 AM

      They say it gets better with time, but no one said how much time though. Ugh! 🙂

      Thanks for reading!

  4. December 8, 2010 at 10:24 PM

    chick, this to me is a stunning poem! mine’s here- http://fiveloaf.wordpress.com/2010/01/15/head/

  5. December 9, 2010 at 9:52 AM

    You pulled every bit of memory sense and tucked it inside this heart-breaking poem…

  6. December 10, 2010 at 8:38 PM

    fantastic poem….

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