I am often inspired by everyday things. This poem speaks of the everyday of my childhood, andthe  power of fragrance to carry us back in time.

My Father’s workshop

Blade slices plank
Metal cuts wood
Violent yet creative
A soft curl drifts to the floor.

Waste mattter
Fragrant as the forest
Fragile as an autumn leaf.

How I long to hold that new-born shaving
breathing its sweet perfume

In an instant transported
Back to your workshop
The days of my childhood
When you were still here.