We joke about a "cigar spirit", some long-dead relative
Hanging around the property, smoking his cigars, listening in on conversation
No one in the house smokes, and yet sometimes,
The waft of rich tobacco fills our nostrils
When Johnny Meowing, the first cat who claimed us when I was old enough
To take care of pets, old enough to understand the grief that comes with their passing,
Was sick, his kidneys failing, we lit incense sticks to keep the flies away
And even now, years later, the smell of citronella reminds me of him
Sepalika flowers are soft to touch, such a contrast to their leaves,
That one kind of jasmine, queen of the night, so small
Athamma, to me, is the fragrance of these flowers
Her coffin was filled with them, as was her wish
Calvin never made it to his fifth birthday, and in the months before his death,
Cleaning up vomit became almost a daily occurrence - we didn't mind it
Disinfectant wipes, although expensive, made things easier
Now, when I pull one out of a packet, I can almost hear his chatty meows
Whenever I think of you - rarely, now - it is the sickly-sweet smell of caramel that comes to mind
It always lingered on you, mixing with the smell of cigarettes and freshly-ironed clothes
Sometimes, as I unwrap a Delta toffee and pop it into my mouth,
A misplaced memory finds its way to my heart like a dart
