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Marilyn Ashbaugh

Secondhand Smoke

The scent of cigarette smoke conjures a winter squall that gusts away the present to replace it with the past.   Memory wanders through smoky scenes cast in grainy grey tones.  A clinic visit as a toddler—everything white except the grey ash that falls from the doctor’s cigarette.  In the next scene Dad gently rubs ashes into my small finger cut until the bleeding magically stops.  At fifteen I steal a cigarette from Dad to feel my first dizzy descent into adulthood. 

gasoline
and Old Spice
Dad
in his garage
working on a muscle car

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About the Author

Marilyn Ashbaugh is a poet, nature photographer, and organic gardener.  She is widely published in journals and anthologies featuring Japanese short-form poetry.