the smell of old rocks
smothering
Grandpa’s tools
dusty oil cans
and the riding mower
old rocks smothering
tooth marked cribs
jars of pickles, unlabeled
sweaters with Grandma’s smell
smothering
water seeping in
frozen in the morning
Mother calling from upstairs
offering heat
the smell of old rocks
smothering
blood I didn’t know was mine
smothering
old rocks around me
my blood, here
the smell of
my blood

- Bob McHeffey