to me, the aromas we are
given to remember. Tucked
deeply back and in
some crenellations of the mind,
some darkened hallway of
the me.
The time I stood aloft
a descending escalator and
was given swift remember
of her - my fourth grade teacher
Mrs. Kahn. Her cologne adrift
the air of Strawbridges & Clothier.
A fond retelling to
be sure. But,
just as oft’ though
not so fine,
the dank and pungent
smell of tent caterpillars rotting
in the damp wet chambers of their
cocoon. Or, the purpled, bluish
robin-baby freshly fallen from
the nest and turning into a
puddle afoot the tree.
The fresh hint of golden
leaves, clacking in clear blue, winded
skies, presaging the coming
of colder days and apple pies. It
is true that firing together
does tangle mingled images into
a wiring together rat’s nest of
heart and mind. Some days an emotion
leads and it pulls free a memory; others
it is the mind that leads the heart.
Together, always it is together; just that
it is sometimes odd.
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