By Generoso Opulencia (Poetry)

I believe in the scent of sainthood
of those tortured by men,
demons or lifelong self-denial.
I believe in the unique scent
that each nook in the house
exudes.
And our home is filled
with your warm scent:
our dining-living room
where meals are served
on plates that you have cleaned
the silverware that you have
carefully chosen and arranged;
the rooms where our grandchildren’s
playthings are put in place
after each play;
the vase on the window sill
filled with sweet white things
from the garden.

I don’t know when our meals
will be served no more
or our great-great grandchildren
play with virtual toys,
your garden becoming a history.
Only, I know that ten thousand years, zillion year
won’t wipe away the scent
that you have infused in me.