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these clean flannelette sheets smell
like the cupboard in which they sat
through the warm months, waiting,
and remind me of her house –
not her sheets, for they were stored
in the taller cupboard on the other side
of the wall – but of her house, and thus
of her. this cupboard sat in the entrance
hall beneath the art deco mirror, facing
art deco glass front doors off the art
deco semi-circle porch – remembering,
now, I understand my favour for that era.
my sheets have the smell of the wood
my grandfather worked into the cupboard
that sat in the hall of the house up the hill
from the beach, and kept her telephone
books and odd pieces of paper,
and held on top the big fancy sea
shells my uncle brought back
from the desert – one came to me when
she left the house that has not
yet quite left me

bedside cabinet