Scent of Settled Years

I shifted her chair to sweep the floor,

the wood sighed under my hands once more.

Old varnish and dust in the afternoon air,

a smell that drags me back like a snare.

The cushion sags where her elbows lay,

faded fabric in a silent decay.

She never let us move a single piece,

her quiet rule, her fortress of peace.

Today the smell reached inside my chest,

and tangled with memories that won’t rest.