I tried to smell you in my sheets this morning.
It was useless
My faded, sage-lotion scent seeped through,
warming the thin cotton -
so I crumpled and tossed them into the hamper,
making room on my bed for freshly-laundered ones
that smelled sweet and floral and
will never wear the scent of your body.
The new day spread out before me -
the fog outside reminded me
it will get much colder
before it gets warmer,
We spent last winter
Warming each others bodies.
You were a sheet of flesh
Soft and cushy enough
I simply smelled myself to sleep.
I wonder what your next lover will smell like
Sweet, faded sage?
Or musky, with hints of cigarette in her kiss
What will she taste like?
Will she be thick-thighed, blonde and little?
Will others call her cute?
Or, will she be very different from me
Dark in the places I am bright,
edgy in the places I lack edge,
skinny in the places I am fat,
uninjured where I am damaged
Will you smell her and see the whole world spread out before you?
Will you forever commit yourself to her sheets?
I have a feeling
this will be a long winter.
I do not smell any lovers in the near future
there is no one else
I want wrapped in my sheets,
And the sheets
on my bed are as good as new
but your paintings still weigh on my walls.
Other reminders tug at me
Though you are not visible,
sometimes I can feel you in my bed.
I often think about spring
Just three more months and the world
will be clothed in a sheet of freshness,
three more months and many more
laundry cycles later,
and maybe I will finally learn
To smell the roses
Maybe I will take one breath of spring
and new opportunities will spread before me
Yes! I can almost smell it now!
By Marisa Torrieri