Musty – it’s my memory of the cellar.
When they spent the night,
My grandfather and I would sleep down there.
Me, not really keeping him company,
just being uncomfortably in the same space.

The plastered walls floated a talcy powder that would linger
in my throat
And on my tongue.

Later when he was dying
that discomfort still remained
But subsided as he grew weak
in that big loud frame of his.

Published in Platform Review June 2018

The post Taste appeared first on Andrew Furst.