The Scent of your Life

I always knew that her perfume would be on me for hours
and I always regretted when it finally drifted away, but the cigarette smoke never did.
Not until I showered.

I always knew that she would hug me so tight that her little arms had to strain to keep me in their circle
and I always waited for the jingle of her charm bracelet to signal my release.
A release that I never really wanted.

I always think about how her voice, and her touch, her love and her admiration were enough to bring me back from any edge,
from any doubt, from any reason to not believe.

Her ability to identify the obvious, with out annoying,
To state the truth without injury,
And to bring it all home in one statement;
“blood is thicker than water, baby, and don’t you ever forget it.”
She didn’t say “baby” in a soft or endearing way, but more in the way that a little Italian woman should say it
Just before
She sucks her teeth. “blood is thicker than water, baby….” It is.

Then one day, she said; “love is thicker than water baby.” Love.

There is nothing that my grandmother has ever done with more perfection than love me, and nothing that she has done with less perfection than to love herself. It was the pouring out, not the gathering in that filled her heart.

Love is thicker than water, and it is thicker than red sauce. It is thicker than hate and it is thicker than smoke. It is thicker than time and
It is thicker than Vodka. Love is the thick remembrance of days past and sweet smells that become your memory of who you are.

Blood is thick indeed when it is the love of a little Italian woman you share it with.