Nicotine

Nicotine.

It’s been part of me

since my earliest memory.

Dad used to keep his cigs

in our pea green fridge

in our tiny kitchen

in our tiny home…

my current home,

minus the green fridge.

Nicotine.

My amazing grandmother,

she smelled

like Elizabeth Taylor

White Diamonds perfume.

A closet smoker.

I pretended not to see.

I didn’t want her to know

she wasn’t good at hiding it.

Nicotine.

He was twenty-one

and I was sixteen.

To this day,

I can smell his aroma.

A mess of motor oil,

dirt and sweat,

and familiar tobacco.

I fell fast and hard.

Nicotine.

It’s been seventeen weeks

since I’ve taken a drag.

Cravings still hit,

take me by surprise

and I think

“Fuck,

a cigarette

would be great right now.”

Nicotine.