The Hat

There is sits

in my closet

filled with his scent.

Whenever I want to feel

close to him again,

I go

and inhale

the smell

of his favorite cologne

that still faintly lingers

and the memories

flood my mind.

And I smile.

The hat.

Abuelos hat.


3 thoughts on “The Hat

  1. This reminds me of a story of I read about a grandmother who no longer was in this world and a young girl smelling her clothes to smell the lingering of Evening in Paris–a scent taking her back to her time with her grandmother. Scent is a powerful sense. Lovely poem.

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