i remember the smell of leather and after-shave

when my father carried me on his shoulders

my hands tucked under his chin

i was amazed

by the rough stubble of his beard

i would think

someday i will have to shave

and it made me look forward

to being just like my father

 

he was in the army

and had to get up very early

sometimes i'd join him

he'd put shaving cream all over my face

as if i actually had to shave

i had a plastic replica of the stanley cup

that looked something like a razor

if you turned it upside down

he showed me the intricacies

on tongue in cheek to stretch the skin

and how to shave under the nose

 

afterwards he put aftershave

on my freshly attended-to cheeks

and i watched him dress

in the meticulous razor crease

of army uniform and brass buttons

 

once dressed and ready to leave

he...he...

and this is where my memory fails me

i did not live with my father after i was five years old

and my memory feels like some sort of quilt, patchwork

each patch fading at a deliberate

yet different pace

 

i remember the smell of my father's aftershave

and the way he looked standing in the mirror

but i do not remember him leaving the house

i have no memory of him coming home

 

 

Copyright© michael dennis/Pulp Press Book Publishers

 

back to fade to blue

back to michael dennis home