for that insistence, the fragrance of a word
I never found, delirium. You knew nothing.
When we arrived home from the airport
we made love that late afternoon,
dusk light. Fear slowly settled around me.
"Do you smell cinnamon?" "Yes," you said,
"it's a surprise." Downstairs, in the kitchen,
you removed the bread from the oven--
cinnamon-raisin. butter melted, we took our first taste.
I told you about the Cinnamon Peeler's Wife.
Then it happened again. After I left home for my office,
what would I need to survive the day? I hurriedly picked
out several stems: daisies and one black-eyed susan
for five dollars. While I saw my first patient,
the florist delivered a basket of daisies
with your unsigned note: I forgot to tell you
how good you smelled this morning.
(c)Elaine Walters McFerron 2004
from Double Solitude
Green River Press
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