Friday, May 28, 2010

For some, it’s a fragrance, or the scent of burning leaves
I’ve heard it said the olfactory gland is the most powerful
When it comes to evoking memories of times past
And that the whiff of vanilla or sandalwood or gardenias—
Any trace aroma that bears significance for one
Can summons reminiscences unbidden to the fore

But for me, one who has for some reason, lost that edge
That keenly honed sense of smell – I find it’s voices
That send me reeling; sometimes it will be an overheard
Basso profundo somewhere on a bus, and I will swing
Around trying to spot the speaker, certain I know them
Just in time to see a gentleman departing the vehicle—
Plainly someone I don’t recognize but by then, I am
Awash in memories of whose voice I thought I heard

Film will be unspooling in my head of an old friend
Or foe – they’re not always happy memories, of course
And I’ll be right back in the moment—all from hearing
A voice; other times, I’ll think I hear a whisper in a darkened
Theatre, and strain to hear it again—sometimes, I do!
Then, I try to locate that speaker, but naturally, I never
Can and must settle for dealing with the memories
That accompany the whispered voice—who it reminded
Me of—it’s not quite the same as having voices in my head
At least I don’t think it is, but sometimes I wonder.


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