My mother’s house

Carole Bromley

smelt of washing, frying bacon,
talcum powder and warm milk.

My sister’s smells of beagles,
manure and cardinal polish.

Mine, as far as I know, of baking bread,
of coffee, occasionally fish.

I could be wrong. My daughter-in-law
comments on my perfume,

how it clings to her daughter’s hair.