Sunday, May 18, 2014
Nested in elms
for J
You asked what a squirrel smells like.
Her belly is the scent of cedar
fences, her tail of moldy oak leaves,
her throat of fermented apple,
her ear, a first-edition Lewis Carroll
left in the rain.
She smells nothing
like your morning tea, your spoon
twirling honey, the rising bread
of your next poem.
She contains no whiff
of your newborn’s scalp –
all butter churn and snow, or
your little boy’s fleecy bedtime
kisses.
But when she tucks away
the treasures that glitter along
Home Street, there is something
of your grown man
carrying his suitcase
down the front porch
in her.
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4 comments:
oh how lovely this is… so many lovely, lovely images, smells
'smells […] the rising bread/of your next poem' - perfect!
I think I'd use 'sniff' rather than 'whiff', because to me whiff suggests stinky and sniff is what we do when we inhale baby's scalp smells.
this is really, really lovely!
Yes I'm with SMS on this your first two stanzas are particularly lovely!
the third and fourth are also strong but same quibble with whiff, and in the last we switch more to a visual or an attitude than a smell…unless it is cologne or sweat or ??? I needed more of a connection there though, it baffled me slightly. It's a great visual though. Maybe it's the suitcase she smells like? or briefcase? but it deviates a bit from the what she smells like/doesnt smell like.
Really like this.
Oh, very nice. All those smells!
(Is that my spoon twirling honey?)
The whole poem is for you, silly! Inspired by your squirrel question on Facebook and my promise to write about your honey spoon. That's your son going off to college in the last stanza. :)
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