Small Treasures
by Candace Turner

I wrap Daddy’s faded denim jacket
around my smaller female frame;
inhale his unique outdoor woodsy scent.

My hand slips into a pocket.
Fingers feel a piece of fragile fluff,
a crumpled white tissue,
once used to catch tears leaked
from his weepy left eye.

Not tears he’d say, just allergies

My earthy inheritance … his jacket, his tissue,
even his weepy left eye.
Cocooned in his jacket;
I sit on my bedroom closet floor
unable to repeat his mantra.

My allergies complex in their simplicity
Pollen is an excellent disguise.


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