This Nose Hunts

Not quite awake, my
body drags behind
my foggy mind.
I am dull,
here in the
dungeon of
night: my sight
is off, and a muffled
ring shrouds my hearing.
The silence of the house is
deafening – even the clock
is at sea.

But the grape on my
tongue tastes like the
troth of life and my
noses scouts about:

here, morning’s toast
there, yesterday’s curry

racing round the house, like
a cat on the loose, not to
be caught. But this nose hunts,
and now, now, I smell God:

first like baby’s skin
then like the air of a storm

taut, and sharp, like cheese blue.

2 thoughts on “This Nose Hunts

  1. shoreacres says:

    You stopped me with the phrase “the troth of life.” Of course I thought at first it was a typo. Then, I remembered the old marriage vows, which included the phrase, “I plight thee my troth.” That raised a question: what, exactly, does ‘troth’ mean? Once I sorted that, it made perfect sense in the context of your poem! There’s some interesting information about the phrase — and its Middle English roots — here. There’s more information than you’d want, probably, but it is interesting.

    I very much like the poem as a whole. The extended metaphor is great, and I love the blue cheese at the end. In my home town, the Maytag Corporation did more than washing machines. They had a dairy farm which still is in business, and which produces a very highly rated blue cheese. I order some every year at Christmas, just for a taste of home.

  2. agjorgenson says:

    How nice for you to be able to taste home yearly. I can imagine that to be a very fine comfort. Thanks for the link on troth. I quite like the word, its sound and meaning: but not one falling from my lips frequently. Consequently, I was quite happy to include it, and the blue cheese. Glad to know you enjoy the poem. I am quite fond of it too. I guess poets are allowed to have favourites…

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