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.