Scent of a son

Scent of a son.

I can still smell him
pressing his sheets
to my face
I can still smell him.

My son
he went away
a teenage boy
I can still smell him.

He died a man
searing shrapnel
tore away his life
I can still smell him.

His room
untouched, bed unmade
since he left
I can still smell him.

How many more, Mr. Blair?
union flagged boxes
lost sons
I can still smell him.

© Terry Sorby