There are three of them—pancakes—on a round plate in front of me. Fluffy, with bubble craters, dark-orange toasted patches spread out like a thin spiderweb. A mountain of whipped cream holds blueberry beads, glinting slightly under the dim light of the Persian-style café chandelier. I flinch when he snaps, “Alissa?” “Huh?” I look up, a fork tight between my fingers. Across the table—Victor, my boyfriend of three years. His flat cheeks, rubicund. His mouth—a single, long line. He breaks it, …
Tag: Cinnamon
“The Transformation” * Poetry * Sambhu Ramachandran
your gaze has gone straight through me like a vampire’s flashing fangs through a blue throbbing vein embossed on a bare slanted neck slick with sweat & I am already waiting feverishly in love’s unventilated vestibule for the moment of transformation the full moon night of losing myself in you that will rend me apart terrorising me with its blend of weakness and strength ecstasy & escalation of pain the senses grow suddenly sharper now I can hear your heart …
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SILLAGE #2: Ambre Narguilé * Poetry + Prose * Jehanne Dubrow
Aromatica Poetica is delighted to present the second in a series called Sillage by Jehanne Dubrow. She is the author of several books of poetry and prose that dance with our heart’s senses, including Taste: A Book of Small Bites, which we highly recommend! Each of the 12 poems are written in the voice of a specific perfume—this one is Ambre Narguilé—and were begun during the height of the pandemic. For this Sillage series, the poems are paired with a …
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“Anosmia” * Fiction * Tara Ison
It’s early days yet (a casual omelet bar meet-up, then a nice though not too-pricey bistro dinner), but she thinks it’s going well, so far. Her friend Jean thought they’d hit it off, that Rose would like this public defender guy Jean met at some wedding and interrogated over the tarragon chicken, on Rose’s behalf, about his relationship status; Jean said he checked all the boxes Rose thinks are important, and so felt fine passing along her number. She and …
Poems by PM Flynn * Collages by Bill Wolak
To the Silence I pick a lowly plum from an overhanging limb: bypassing judgment of those closestto the sky, in high rise stones, thosewho ride their thin skin higher than heaventhat fits in the smallest hand. Below thick branches the narrow weaveof this moment casts gray and black shade,on the faded sun of your summer dressand blonde wooden sandals: each small thought rises and fallsunder the pregnant silence inside you;all eyes curve with this sunset: dirt from every sunrise covers …
“I Never Labeled My Spices: An Elegy To Olfactory” * Nonfiction * Alice Eakes
I lost my sense of smell. This nasty little virus sweeping the world, killing millions, invaded my home in January 2022 despite vaccinations and other protective protocols. My symptoms were somewhere between mild and life-threatening. I rode it out, and in the end, I discovered I no longer possessed the powerful olfactory sense that has been my lifelong companion. My first-grade teacher is responsible for my ability to identify just about anything from smell. She figured if I would eventually …
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“Ember Opens the Door” * Poetry * Brook Bhagat
Long past bedtime nighttime mountain winter air sparkles ice inside her nose with the inbreath deep, deep, free, they’re asleep, they’re all asleep. Ember closes the door soft behind her and smells the moon: pines, minty, peppery pines, their outlines blurring green together into black. Off the stoop in nightgown and coat, she shifts the kitty backpack of graham crackers, marshmallows, chocolate. Socks, underpants, Jenny doll. Boots crush footprints in hard snow, slow then fast, making for the woods for …
“An Ode to Icelandic Tap Water” & Other Poems by Sara Letourneau
An Ode to Icelandic Tap Water I was told to drink you, that you are “completely safe” and “no other tap water on Earth tastes so good,” and I cringed as if I had sipped rancid milk. Where I come from, such water perfumes the skin with trace metals during a shower, and who knows what kind of slow death it inflicts on one’s cells. Regardless, I pour my first glass of you, and you appear as water should, clear …
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Masala Chai & Other Poems by Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad
Masala chai always reminds me of rest stops and rain – Himalayan apple orchards wrapped around rugged trails, the smell of mountain soil, tatters of sky flashing blue smudging to thundercloud grey – a lot like your eyes – I could never tell where the gold ended and the filaments of green began. Nothing comforts the soul like a cup of masala chai, you whispered, savouring the milky decoction of black tea and cloves. Cardamom pods bobbed like boats, in …
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“The Smells of Home” * Memoir * Kate Chamberlin
I remember a beautiful old Victorian home in Wellsville that yowled “Cats!” even as you stepped onto the wide front porch. Here in Walworth, one of my friend’s home smells of candles and paint; another like the farm; and another actually has no smell at all. As I walk through my home, I can smell which room I’m passing – especially on a hot, humid day. You’ve heard of being led by the nose? Well, the nose knows. In the …