closing my eyes, i can still smell the freshly baked
oatmeal cookies we'd bake together;


at age 7, i thought the best part of love
was inside those moments.


now, after being unable to find where you've gone,
i believe the best part of love
is in being able to find it again.



12/17/2008
Author's Note: 
my father, the asshole, disappeared almost a year ago and i can still cry about it.

Posted on 12/18/2008
Copyright © 2025 Ava Blu

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/18/08 at 04:22 AM
It's weird how such a small moment can hold onto us for so long. I think it's the little things that make it so hard to let go of something that's otherwise painful as hell, and I think you illustrate that point with beautiful, flawlessly written clarity. 
Posted by George Hoerner on 12/18/08 at 03:36 PM
Jeanna, I thank you for this poem. It is time for me to make oatmeal scones. It also brought back my mother's leaving when I was about 6 only seen 4 times after that in her 80's and she had no idea who I was.