olfactory

I remember flannel and flourecent orange.

And the stale smell of tight spaces mixed with cigarettes,

though we weren't involved in either.

Taking baths in giant metal pots,

praying not to be the last one in the water.

When I am in his car I remember these things.

The smells and memories imprinted on the seats like ghosts.

Making me want to crawl into the fetal position, and rest my head

on the invisible people that I cant stand that I recognize.

I remember he would leave us every morning,

and always manage to bring home something new late at night.

stale, cigarettes, and cheap perfume, that embodied you and guiltily lingered in your nose like a disease.

 

When he didn't come back,

I remember that most vividly.

Eating speghettios out of a can long past it's expiration date.

Too scared to sleep in complete darkness, and the room

seeming at least a fraction smaller than before,

washing our clothes in the sink.

 

And when he finally came stumbling back on the 6th day at ten thirty-two,

he told us he just didn't remember.

The strong smell of sex and cheap perfume

on this breath and clothes,

no hint of remorse in his words.

I lost 7 pounds that week.

 

I remember driving past that s****y old house

every day for the first few months after I left.

The memories being played on the front of the house like a twisted move.

Sex.

Abandonment.

Dirty water.

We were all involed.

 

And now i go there less and less,

because the movies make me sick,

and I hate remembering.

 

The old house,

the spirit filled chevi in the driveway.

 

Damnit,

that cheap old man won't buy a new car.

 

 

 

Author's Note

reposting this, so re review =] id appreciate it. i plan on revising.