Dad's flower is the pure white gardenia.
When they bloom he always tells me
"I love their smell, I really love their smell"
And so I clip one from its branches
I take long inhales
to gather up the fragrance
That's dad's passion that I'm breathing
I love the gardenia like him now
Today I saw a shrub on a tiny street corner
And like I do every time, I picked, just one
As I headed homeward I smelled and smelled
until I had a headache
I tried to pinpoint the smell
buttery, creamy, tropical, vanilla...
no… smell doesn't have words
It has associations
It's all my dad.
I will cry every time I smell one
when he passes on
I can already feel the tears rising
[current mood] Sydney Harbour Views & Dancing In The Dark