The Smell of Old, Ancient Time
By Mary E. O’Brien
Old smells like perfume
That’s past its life cycle
The scent you get when you are
Hoping for exquisite but discover stale.
Old is stale sheets that have absorbed
The fevers and worries
And peaceful slumbers of
The maximum number of humans.
Old time has absorbed into its pores
A thousand smiles, given in vain
To cheer or to greet,
Old time is a black satin circle,
Etched with circular lines that contain,
Miraculously, violins piercing the sorry soul
Or wandering heart.
Old, ancient time is beige sand
Cradling the bones of saints and gladiators
Clinging to crevices to keep their shame and secrets in the grave
Which we all have a right to.
Old, ancient time smells like a baby’s hair.
The very start of time carries the
Baby’s suckling breath
Carries the breath of a babe from dawn to dusk of mankind.
Mary E. O’Brien is a Retired Trophy Wife (RTW) from the Pacific Northwest. She has volunteered for the Court Appointed Special Advocate program, founded local therapeutic hospital humor programs, and supported various other non-profits and do-goodery.
Enjoying the artistry of music, the music of words, the words of healing, and the healing of art, Mary is spending her pandemic hibernation immersing herself in art journaling, watercolor and writing.
She lives in Idaho with her tolerant husband near her comedic grandchildren, and is loved by an elderly, sugared golden retriever.
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