The Memories of Scent
She always rubbed Jergens’ hand lotion
all over her arms and face after wringing
the last bit of soapy water from the sponge,
absent mindedly placing it into the cracked dish one
of us made in second grade.
Maybe she hoped to soften the wear from so many
years of washing dishes, changing diapers,
wiping away tears, mostly her own.
Years later, I absent mindedly placed a
bottle of Jergens’ lotion into my shopping cart,
my attention drawn to what trouble my two
year old son was getting himself into.
After washing the dishes, wringing out the sponge,
I rubbed Jergen’s lotion into my cracked hands,
raw from changing diapers, wiping away his tears.
The memories of scent.
She always rubbed Jergens’ hand lotion
all over her arms and face after wringing
the last bit of soapy water from the sponge,
absent mindedly placing it into the cracked dish one
of us made in second grade.
Maybe she hoped to soften the wear from so many
years of washing dishes, changing diapers,
wiping away tears, mostly her own.
Years later, I absent mindedly placed a
bottle of Jergens’ lotion into my shopping cart,
my attention drawn to what trouble my two
year old son was getting himself into.
After washing the dishes, wringing out the sponge,
I rubbed Jergen’s lotion into my cracked hands,
raw from changing diapers, wiping away his tears.
The memories of scent.
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