Chantal Stewart

I  never knew I loved cinnamon
The smell of it
wafting from a pot of simmering curry
or the feel of the hard brown bark
snapping between my fingers
leaving splinters of pungent smell
as I raise them to my mouth.

I knew I loved toddlers
tottering on widespread legs
trying to talk in words like  ”úp”and ”more”
Toddlers with sticky fingers
on sugar highs
from too many sour worms.
Toddlers pressing car keys into draw locks
and beaming with pride
at the right move
though the wrong fit.

I never knew I liked smells
The metallic smell of commuter trains
sour seat covers
a prelude to some new destination
maybe to the smell of apple blossom
or sycamore or pine cones
fresh and new, carried on a  crisp wind.

I never knew I loved dogs
Walking dogs
Snuggling with dogs
feeling their soft fur against my chest.
I must love dogs
because I pick up their poo
even when it is under the washline
where I want to hang
my pristine white cotton sheets
without them flapping into brown puddles.

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