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Cinnamon Smoke

by Glenn Currier

Walking out to the mailbox
I breathe in the cool scent of fall
and from nowhere in particular
a memory of me running out for a pass
in the vacant lot - our neighborhood stadium -
where teenage boys
felt the thrill of freedom
in their lungs and limbs.

The cinnamon smoke
of a red candle
reminds me of my aunt Madeline
who prayed before the vigil light on her home altar,
and told me of her visions of the Virgin,
taught me the joy of faith and sacred music
and being a special nephew
destined for something higher.

Driving west on I-20 at 6:00pm
the layered gold and coral clouds on the horizon
bring back a trip to Colorado
pulling our little camper trailer
driving toward high altitude adventure.

I thank my muse
for drifting in a momentary breeze
through the crack in the window
officiating at this marriage
of memory and writing.

12/04/2018

Posted on 12/04/2018
Copyright © 2018 Glenn Currier

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/06/18 at 05:16 AM

I enjoyed these memories very much, Glenn. You've touched a lot of my senses with this one. Thanks!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/09/18 at 09:29 AM

Worthy reminder of how sights and smells can take us back to the past and departed loved ones. Great close off in that last stanza.

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