by Sharon Chmielarz
Each odor is an announcement,
small or large. None have eyes.
All resemble the bodies they came from.
Some live forever, like dried fungus
under bark. Some pop up before your
feet, toadstool style. If some come
running at you like a big family
of huggers, hightail it out of there.
Reserve yourself for one alone
maybe. Slip away from whose-
soever’s tail curls over your eyes.
Wake easy. Shake the hind leg first
from its love for the pillow’s brink.