Memory of Home

In the red-tiled single storied house
of my adulthood, there was a step
down into the living room 

a brick fireplace against the north wall
with a display of masks collected
from around the world. 

One evening while a guest visited
from Manchester we talked

about many things.

The fire burned in the fireplace,
decorative candles were arranged
on the mantel to add lighting.

Our visitor, asked about the type

of wood we were burning.

I answered in was pine
purchased at the grocery store.

She sniffed and said she thought
it had a smell of cherry wood.

We went on with our conversation
again she paused and said the smell

of cherry had become stronger.

I looked outside to see if a neighbor
was also burning wood this evening.  

When I walked back into the room
I could smell the distinct aroma.

I noticed one of the masks was smoking,
a tattooed face with a large nose
ready to burst into flame.

I grabbed the mask and doused

it with water, she blew out the candle

and we laughed until we cried.