cut grass

My grandfather told me the worst smell in the world
is the smell of burning flesh and rotting bodies.

He told me quietly, under his breath,
like it was something I shouldn''t know.

He used to tell me I was as perfect as a flower
while we sat on the creaking back porch
and I watched him roll withered little cigarettes.

I accepted all his advice as if they were fables
things that became part of my illusions of adulthood
long before the real world sat on my shoulders.

And I promised him that I would never go to war.

My grandfather told me that nothing smelled as sweet
as cut grass covered with morning dew.

I could never breathe deep enough to understand.