Sitting in the chapel, the candles

Burn brightly in front of us and I catch

A whiff of the burning, woodsy aroma from the wax

The evocative scent whisks me away -  

Ten years old, with my grandparents,

Playing games and sitting around a fire

A Christmas Tree is lit but

Our happiness keeps the room warm

Everyone laughing and smiling

So much easier

Holding my breath for as long as I can

Afraid if I breathe out, the memory will leave

And it disappears, without warning

My heart goes still.

No grandparents.

No happy family.

No Christmas Tree.

No memory.

Where did it come from?

I want it back

The scent, the smoke from the candle,

It triggers another memory.

The Tree, it smelled the same way.

I haven’t seen my family in so long.

They’re gone, along with the memory

I ache to inhale another scent

To recall another story

But the smell withdraws

And my efforts are seemingly useless.

My hands – numbed and charred – remain as

A mark of my past life;

A life I can no longer recall.

A life I long to remember.

Moments and flashes of stories are evoked,

Told through scents and scars.

My story may be too tragic to tell.

Maybe I can still tell it, but without any words.