I remember the smells.

Almond paste and cloves

in the kitchen. Aramis cologne

in his bedroom.

I remember the sounds.

Baking pans scraping against

the oven racks.

His voice and Sinatra's

mixing in the hallways.

I remember downstairs.

Dim lighting and dusty

liquor bottles behind the wet bar.

I remember the marble lions.

Majestic. Regal. Determined

to stand guard over us when he couldn't.

I remember the poolside.

Blissful mid-July swims.

Him, always watching over us.

Coming up for air to see him

Smiling from his white painted wooden deck.

I remember the birthday parties.

Backyard bashes.

BBQs he threw just to see

his family together with him.

I remember what my face must've looked like.

Age 10. Sunscreen scented.

Shirtless, in swim trunks.

I saw it on the lawn. It said

"For Sale."