Anosmia

A poem

How will I tell if

I can smell again? If I’ve forgotten the shape of their cells

It’s been nine days and I, an avid home chef

Who cooks by wafting aromas toward me:

Picking out the salt, pepper, cumin. It needs

paprika, garlic, oregano. Thyme.

And now I can only surmise by my fading taste buds if something

is too salty or too sweet.

How will I know

The scent of my beloved! Hours spent

Breathing in her hair, so that her fragrance will become a part of me.

Linen, jasmine, dusty rose.

My entire life, redolent with memory

Fresh strawberries, oranges, red wine!

Smoked meat, this beach candle, my cat’s litterbox feet

My grandma’s powder and pomade.

Trapped in the damaged passages of my brain

That’s no longer writing scripts of intangibilities

I have

no new smell memories from this time

— c. f. fong

For more content, visit my Medium profile; or my LinkTree for scholarly work, or Subscribe to my monthly newsletter, Flying Penguins, which is a digest of my best work every month as well as completely new pieces written just for the newsletter, delivered directly to your Inbox!