Olfactory

When I'm changing the liner of the trash bins 
or sanitizing the counter with a wipe premoistened 
with plant-derived essential oils, I remember 
the part in Lorca where he describes how duende 
arrives as a wind gusting through the empty archway 
then something about the smell of a child's saliva, 
crushed grass, and medusa's veil. How to explain
why this leads to a memory of how in childhood, 
we tried as much as possible not to use the toilets 
in our elementary school? No running water, no paper 
towels, flies buzzing at the half-opened windows— 
hard to keep it in when you're always hot and thirsty 
after recess. In the neighborhood, there was a woman 
who gave music lessons; she spoke English haltingly 
and always smelled of old lace and Valda Pastilles.
The smell of charred meat wafts over the fence 
from someone's grill. I like the smell of heat and rain 
mingled together, just as it falls on parched earth.