from my journal

The smell of death begins
at birth,
in the wash of fluid that pours
out with the child,

in the loss of placenta
in the blood.

Like wet earth,
it harkens spring plantings, summer rain; like
damp leaves, it promises fall.

The sharp odor of
birth lingers with the aged. Only after,
do we find the wintry, frozen lack of smell blankets all.