I close my eyes and sniff the stale air.
Newly cut grass,
the ends still moist and bleeding.
A hint of sweat gone dry under the sun.
Engine oil under fingernail,
washed away with soap and water.
A wisp of cigarette smoke.
black and steaming.
With these smells, I paint the image of my father,
My father who smells of home.
I open my eyes now and feel safe.
Happy Father’s Day!