As beautiful as an aisle of Jell-o
I am radiant orange, lemon-lime, blue raspberry, and green
grape. I am the entire Garden of Eden in box form,
a powder of pomegranates and apples and I am always
ready for the deli meat section.
The butterball is the only way
I ever want to think of a turkey
and not the wisdom on the face of the old
hen who would perch herself on a weather vane
in my backyard to remind me
to watch my children
who often wander too close to the forest.
And maybe I’m not cut out
for the real world or the fresh produce
section, which makes sense because I was born
right after Chornobyl exploded. And now
I’m in the candle aisle again
and I just can’t leave. A place of smells
where we replace reality with what we
think it should be, cucumber melon,
lilac spring, vanilla sugar cookie, the smell
of the funeral home where you planned
your grandfather’s wake
cedar and sweet caramel.
The warm baloney sandwich
he unwrapped from his pocket
the day you found out
he was leaving his body behind.