Recurring Smell

He’d taught me to disbelieve ghostly things. Skinning and chopping superstitions, I cooked a poem. My thoughts grew under his eaves. Desolation dominates me after his funeral. A vague shape vanishes from my windowpane. A stray dog magnifies mystery, barking. Being his son, I say boldly this is an illusion. Can he rest in peace, when I’m restless? His smell mingled with an ointment, I often feel. It floats in my evening room, giving me goose-bumps. Gravitational pull of a profound love creates wonders. First published in The Literary Hatchet