The mint and spice scent
of my grandfather’s pipe tobacco,
once lost,

found again on the man
in the bus seat next to mine.
Even though memories bid me stay,

I step off at the stop
to walk the seven blocks still to go.
The crunch of the sidewalk salt,

abandoned and useless.
The snow and ice have melted,
but the salt remains

to get stuck in the treads of my shoes,
going along for the journey.
The sigh of the wind past my ears

sings a song of surrender
to the warmth of the air.
My gloves come off.

The puffy dark clouds
that block the sun
reflect the somberness

of my thoughts.
And yet,
I continue.

Josephine Napiore received her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Augsburg University. She has previously been published by the University of Surrey, England, and Spectrum Literary Journal; and the DaCunha Global, Sheila-Na-Gig, The Five-Two and The Blue Nib websites.

Her work has been anthologized by DaCunha Global and Cosmographia. Josephine lives in St. Cloud, Minnesota. Her Facebook page is at facebook.com/JosephineNapiore.