“My mother had soft hands that smelled like soap, and a smile like the first bit of sunlight creeping over a trimmed lawn.”

“I like the smell of my Grandma's soap - I used to sit in the bath and eat it.”

“The pillow smells like the sunlight, a precious smell.”

“No short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dickyIs gonna mother hubbard soft soap meWith just a pocketful of soap.”

“I wanted to tell her how that praise had made me feel, how starved I’d felt for any kind of attention, that I’d begun to think of my teacher Mrs. Terrance like she was my friend, like she was my mother, like she would take me home with her one day to her big house that would be warm and smell of fresh bread, and there would be gold stars all over the floors and ceilings, and she would look down at me as we walked through the door and tell me that this was my home too, that I would get to stay with her forever because she loved me too. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say that to my mother. Even then, I knew the power words had. To heal. To hurt.So I held my mother while she cried, and eventually the tears subsided, and she began to hiccup softly, and this made me giggle, and she almost looked like she was going to smile at me, and I forgot about the house filled with gold stars because one smile from my mother was worth a billion gold stars and a billion Mrs. Terrances and a billion houses that smelled like fresh bread.”

“Wild honey smells of freedom The dust - of sunlight The mouth of a young girl, like a violetBut gold - smells of nothing.”