Smoke
I've always been
hypnotized by smoke,
how it curls and hangs floating,
the only bare remains of
fleeting thoughts.
The scent raises nostalgia
from thin air.
My sweet grandmother
in her warm kitchen,
sipping milk with ice,
waving the trails
of her lit cigarette away.
They danced like phantoms.
Copyright © Katy Fulton | Year Posted 2010
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