it’s the scent of saturday cartoons
and sunday sonatas and basement
barred from little hands and little feet.
mahogany mildew lined
walls of one-story ranch.
the bones of
faded jewel upholstery,
torn seams,
and piano keys,
chipped and churning.
early weekend mornings to
spilled and spoiled milk
solidified to
grainy carpet on little toes
cringe with the creak of carpeted rot.
sunlight coating kitchen tiles
coffee corroded china
and shallow sliced countertops.
black speckled corners
pervading and potent.
sweet ambrosial incense
emitting from walls
absorbing through my skin
like osmosis
embracing my lungs
like grandfather hugs
tight and unyielding.
grime and gold
stick and stone driveway
rubbing eyes raw
as we pull away.
Kaitlyn McCracken, Wilmore