This month's prompts are pipe, playground, prayers, recipes, ribbon, rice, road, saltwater, sandwich, school, sewing.
My father smoked a pipe, and the occasional cigar. It always seemed a bit pretentious to me, and yet it's an image of him that I adore. I can still hear the click of his teeth on the pipe, the twinkle in his eye when he'd suck on the pipe... I've never cared much for tobacco smoke, but the scent of it does bring him instantly to mind, which is a very good thing indeed.
Here is a poem about Vincent van Gogh (who favored a pipe!) that might also be a little bit about Papa. Below you'll find a poem I wrote during 2018 ARTSPEAK: Harlem Renaissance that really is about my papa. And my next middle grade novel (coming 2021) features a pipe-smoking Papa, too.
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