My Father’s Hats - by Mark Irwin - Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, sometimes fumbling the soft crowns and imagine I was in a forest, wind hymning through pines, where the musky scent of rain clinging to damp earth was his scent I loved, lingering on bands, leather, and on the inner silk crowns where I would smell his hair and almost think I was being held, or climbing a tree, touching the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent was that of clove in the godsome…
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fathers, sons, and ghosts
January 25th, 2008 — clove, cologne, hair, hats, musings, musk, oakmoss, poems, woods from Heather @ memory & desire
fathers, sons, and ghosts
January 24th, 2008 — , Perfume, Poetry, clove, cologne, hair, hats, musings, musk, oakmoss, poems, woods from Heather @ memory & desire
My Father’s Hats - by Mark Irwin - Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, sometimes fumbling the soft crowns and imagine I was in a forest, wind hymning through pines, whe…
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