Can Humans Smell Beauty
She sensed him more and more
when he was no more.
His scent filled hands otherwise vacant.
“I can’t” was all she would have said,
had she said.
The scent was not of rot, or cold,
but of the boldly fresh, the warm,
that is to say, a child’s head,
sun suddenly, the sweetness of just sitting
on a picnic table
or swing,
the aroma of singing or of being able
to sing,
what you hold to your breast when you notice
your heart beating,
or hurting,
that kind of thing,
what you hold to your breast
when it’s your heart you would hold.
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For Magaly Guerrero’s prompt on Real Toads, which included the great question, which is the title here. It doesn’t quite work as the title, but I haven’t come up with something else.
The drawing is also mine (Karin Gustafson). As always, all rights reserved.
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