By Sherena Willford
The air has different smells.
Sometimes it smells sweet.
Sometimes it’s pungent.
Sometimes it’s clean.
There are so many different smells in the air.
It reminds me of my mother.
My mother has a different perfume/
For each day of the week.
You’d think that would be enough/
But not for my mother.
Tell me, have you ever seen somebody own/
Thirty bottles of perfume?
Every time my mom leaves the house,
She smells different.
Sometimes she smells like a baby.
Sometimes it’s flowers.
One time, I couldn’t even tell what it was.
The many scents of my mother/
Helps me guess where she is in our house.
Is she in her room?
The kitchen? Or perhaps/
The laundry room?
Every chance I get, I hug my mom.
I breathe her scent in.
My mom smells like happiness.
She smells like comfort.
My mother smells/
Like I never want to let her go.
About the Author
Sherena Willford, Virginia State University
Sherena Willford is an English major with a concentration in creative writing at Virginia State University. In her free time, she enjoys writing, listening to music, and singing.