Maryl Neff - June 2009

in

Is it possible to smell a country?
I picked up a sweater I'd worn in Ireland
tossed in the closet
on the floor
awaiting handwash
still these three weeks later.
I picked it up and took in its scent.
There it is. A whiff. A flash.
Out walking by the ocean. Dingle Peninsula.
or was it the smell of Inis Oirr?
a pub.
the oratory.
the Burren.
My mind wanders through
the many roads we travelled
trying to single out this smell.
Now I have it.
It's smokey
from the fire in the restaurant
that last chilly night.
We're sitting in a circle.
It's not the stone circle
but I imagine us there
eyes closed
all hands linked
as we sing and sway.
We are connected.
Reluctantly
I open my eyes
and throw the sweater
back on the closet floor.
I'm not ready to wash it yet.