My Childhood Nose by Henry Gold

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In some combination and proportion
I can describe my childhood in three smells
Fresh Cut Grass
The aged pages of books
and Gasoline
The summers
spent at day camp
the weekends with my grandparents
Gas to get us there
falling asleep in the musty air
A sunbeam shooting into the reading nook
I wake to join my family
they're enjoying the country air
being lower to the ground the grass reaches my nose
In the city
the fumes and stenches
the proportion of pot and piss
remind me that I am close to home
It's almost a substitute
The gas stations are pockets
where the air is almost as heavy as the city
The gas feels tangible
I keep up with my grandpa
We return with doughnuts
his musty Benz keeps the scent of the gas in the crackled bench seats
we exit the car
the grass
I can still smell the grass and the gas
on his old shirts

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