Navigation by Scent

from The Mother Poems by Shambhavi Sarasvati at Kindred 108. We're all kindred here.

Northern California hills in summer

Navigation by Scent

These late days 
my skin smells of roses
when nothing in me is constrained or
out of place

So different from the 
fenugreek, sea, sugar
skin of youth

I’ve navigated life
by the scent of every house and room,
smells of illness or an open heart,
of disappointment,
nervousness, and
rage

The banquet of morning and wet pine 
Layered scents in a crowded place 
Perfumes of life that spread 
or clear or sit heavy on the mind
or, like cannabis, 
that cling and coerce

I told my landlord: 
The cedar in the yard smells like California 
The kitchen's reclaimed wood 
smells clean and like 
a magically bigger space

These scents are memorialized:
People pretending to be someone else 
Drips of gasoline
East Bay golden hills in summer
Eucalyptus trees baking in the sun
Mugwort
Saffron 
Agarwood
Cardamom, freshly ground 
Wild helicrysum
and night blooming jasmine
All the smells of God

But also airports
Baby hair
Distant skunk musk
Deep inside the spines of books
Unwashed sheep's wool 
The purest milk
and transmission fluid leaked 
in the manifold
and burning

from The Mother Poems by Shambhavi Sarasvati