Tonight's Poet Corner: The Smells I Know

The Smells I Know
by Belinda Roddie

The sharp stab of cinnamon
in my lungs as I listen to the crackling
of the sugary rolls you've just baked
in the oven, the aroma warm

like a whiff
of early autumn in our home.

The unforgiving attack of spoiled fish
in the garbage can outside, wet and
rubbery, like slapping a briny cloth
against my nose and holding it there
like some sort of rotting chloroform,

waiting for me to pass out first.
And the odor of your pajama top

that you let me keep when you've gone
away - an odor that would be neutral to
others, but not to me. Because in the fabric,
I breathe in lavender deodorant, vanilla
body wash, and the lingering spots of

your shampoo. I inhale your creases and
your folds, your skin and your hair,

that natural perfume that wiggles
into my nostrils one at a time and
makes itself comfortable, but does
not follow me as I fall asleep.