WOOD SMOKE

Connections are so strange.

Walking on a cold morning,

I smell wood smoke.

Someone nearby has a fire in their fireplace.

I look at chimneys seeking the smoke,

And, though I see no smoke,

I see all the other fireplaces

I have sat before.

My boyhood home in Florida.

Another where I sat one night,

Smoking cigarettes,

Drinking beer, and...

Writing poetry.

Several in homes now far behind me,

With their memories...

Some good, some bad,

But mine.

Memories made of chimneys

And anonymous

Wood smoke.

• Donovan Baldwin