The faded scent of jasmine roses
tails me to dreamland
beckons me towards
a fragmented place,

I tread on the pungent aroma of Arabic coffee,
which lingers in the air after the neighbors have left
The whiff of cigarettes crowds the space
between Father and I,
tugging at the ends of the curtains
travelling back home.

Sundays mark freshly baked Ka’ak,
stacked with the smell of gasoline
Father behind the car,
as Mother rolls her eyes.

Burnt eggplant has a precious odor.
It fills Teta’s shadow.
Blend it with some cheap perfume, and you’ll sample Mother.
Aftershave stands distant from my home,
it sleeps outside.

Flipping through memories,
the plastic smell of pink lipstick and powdery eyeshadow smudges my fingers
activating my womanhood

The back of the classroom
used to smell like day-old shawarma
softened with vodka 
spread some trauma in there
and you’ll enter my high school.

My books console me through movement
hold my hand as I cross the border.
Do you know what a packed airplane smells like?
Crying babies, silent prayers
a melting pot of scents

The subtle trace of maple trees
reaches for me
as I close the distance
between my past and present. 

Breathe, 
You are here.

1. 

   I completely agree with you! This degree has introduced me to a world of history and culture. Thank you for…

2. 

   I hear your conundrum; I too suffer from a ‘title’ that doesn’t pay the mortgage…Beowulf, Dante’s Inferno, Canterbury Tales are…

3. 

   Welcome

4. 

   Thank you!

5. 

   Good stuff.

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