First new piece of writing in a long, long time. Started it a while ago in the light of a pastoral encounter. Finished it today after being frustrated by technology and running into a creative brick wall regarding my sermon for Sunday, but reflecting within it on memories of my mother's voice. Then my oldest brother called me and we got talking about some family history... and voila...
Now, back to the day job...
The odor of absence,
The perfume of the past,
Clinging to my clothes,
Sharp in nose and throat,
Burning my eyes,
Until tears come.
Unfiltered, acrid smoke
Seeping into my mind,
Stirring up memories,
Like tar-stained snapshots,
Distracting my focus
From others’ loss.
The aroma of death.
The echo of her voice
Diminishes with age.
The photographs fading
With failing memory.
But the scent stays.
The odor of absence,
The perfume of the past,
Clinging to my clothes,
Sharp in nose and throat,
Burning my eyes,
Until tears come.
Unfiltered, acrid smoke
Seeping into my mind,
Stirring up memories,
Like tar-stained snapshots,
Distracting my focus
From others’ loss.
The aroma of death.
The echo of her voice
Diminishes with age.
The photographs fading
With failing memory.
But the scent stays.
Selah
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