of heliotrope and privet, puddles of diesel and cologne,
men fixing a roof hemmed with blue tarp
so much like the sea where I once lived
and would run along the beach, breathing in the stink
of dead horseshoe crabs and seaweed, long brown
strands dusted with barnacles, each mouth opening
to filter the air like tiny arias, I would run
down Commercial Street inhaling the smell
of Spiritus pizza, the shirtless men doused
in Banana Boat, I would smell my grandmotherâs
boutique bug spray from Avonâs and the light spilled
through her nightgown, cherry taffy
melted into cement, sugared raspberries