Smell, like a rake for memories (a poem)

A whimsical poem of scent and childhood and remembrance...

“Scent of a memory” PC:Reena Kapoor. Instagram: @1StarDusty

Smell, like a rake for memories 

Smell, like a rake for memories 
collecting leaves of seasons past
fragrant reminders of bygone springs.

I pass a woman on the street
carrying notes from a perfume 
my mother wore when I
was just five or six or seven.

A single exorbitant one she owned
gifted by a generous brother
whose unhappy life she’d later rue…

A Christian Dior. Transparent, regal 
opulence afloat in a white box.
I can’t recall which one, but a
jutting luxury, out of place for 
those seasons, soils and suns.

She’d sit at her dressing table to face
the length of an eager mirror, rummaging
her sandalwood box of lipsticks 
that one day my sister and I employed, 
as we wrapped ourselves in her sarees!

Only to be caught red-handed, red-lipped
rushing to erase all evidence of our
misbegotten color adventure, full of
smudged lipstick, contrition and longing
to grow up faster, please! Faster!

Now I rake up the scent of her presence, 
a gravity that pulled me to her room —
as soon as she’d sit to commence —
in full enchantment of her beauty rituals.

I place myself behind her to
behold in rapt fascination, steady
preparations for a social occasion,
watching her closely trace colors,
her every action, line, and hue.

I still recall her green saree 
and its lustrous brocade border
made her look as if she
rode frothy waves atop an
effulgent, admiring sea, as it
bowed to her green eyes.

The most beautiful woman in the world.
Still is; is that how green became my color?
Still is, that scent — a rake for my memory garden.
Still is! So I buy myself a similar one
to compel her notes on demand…

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reena | 02.16.24

I’ve been writing this poem for a long time. It arrived as usual out of the blue. I’m often accused of a strong sense of smell (guilty as charged), so when a chance encounter with an old fragrance evoked these childhood memories and my love for my mother (I lost her in 2022) the words came spilling out. I don’t know if this poem’s even finished but here it is…

~~~

Funny thing, I went looking for photos of old CD perfumes online, to see if I could find the exact one from this poem. A picture of it lives brightly in my mind’s eye. Much to my delight, I finally found an image. No, I’m no shill for Christian Dior or their products, but sharing it here for memory’s sake…