the smell of rain on dust

I remember the smell
of soap
on my grandfather's hands
after he'd been in his workshop
all day

I love the smell
of sunlight
hitting jasmine petals
as I sit
in the shade

I know the smell
of my lover
in the tangle of hair
behind his right ear
as we lie together

I have never smelt
rain on a dusty road
through an african plain
but as you tell me
your stories
I smell it on you

Paula Harris

published in Broadsheet 10