What We Are

We are sacks of sweat and
a thousand rank odors. We are
the traces of a perfume someone
was wearing once when we were
young, traces which shine the only
dim light in this empty room. We
reek and we tiptoe to no avail,
attempting to blend in with
the woodwork, but knowing,
deep down, that our desperation
smells too strongly not to be
noticed, the stench of our puny
dreams is smelled clear across
the avenue, apparent to everyone
in eyesight but never spoken of,
not even in hushed tones. We are
standing on a cliff, waiting to catch
just one tiny whiff of a scent we lost
in the confusion ages ago, a scent
on which we might build a foundation
of sorts, a foundation of tranquility,
an edifice of self-assurance and pride.
We exist in straining to fathom what
exactly there is to be proud of.
We live as the hope of an end to all
the longing. We are running and
hiding at all hours. We are hiding.
We are. Terrified the truth will
always be too grotesque for us
to bear or stomach or even sniff.
We are nothing, in the end, but
one long flight from justice, from
peace, forever away from what
we know is right. We are fleeing,
we are hiding, we are hoping while
we sniff what's all around us. We try
sometimes to say Goodbye but find
we are held captive by the myriad
of aromas floating through the window.
Like a rotten tooth you can't keep
yourself from playing with, like
the scent of the subway rising up
through gratings on the street,
sweet and nearly disgusting but
incomparable, like the involuntary
nature of these things which
constantly draws us to them,
we're lurking in shadows, sniffing,
waiting for the fragrance of our
completion to bowl us over by
chance one night. We are waiting
and, in the meantime, inhaling
anything strong enough to take
us back, to remind us of the Whys
we had all figured out once but
which we dropped in a frenzy years
before, dropped and let go tumbling
into the gutter where they lie to
this day, just waiting to be found
again, picked up and adored.

(2007)