Proustian Slumber

My dreams as of late have smelled of this past:

3rd grade meals in the cafeteria--smells of creamy corn and chocolate milk

Perfume my grandmother wore--floral and powdery

The old garage--smells of dust and wood and benign chemistry set liquids

My sister's room--hairspray and saccharine perfumes

Ancient Christmas ornament box--dusty with old plastic and pine scents

My cousin's kitchen on a Sunday afternoon--the post roast simmers slowly, fills room

Buttermints on the table--in a glass vase, smells sweet and comforting

The hatchery--sulfuric eggs that have not hatched, but rather exploded during incubation

The plant--visiting with my father, smells of death and wash, ammonia and hot flesh

Home after a long summer vacation--a smell that can't be put into words

Tile bag in the Scrabble game--smells like old cupboards in a clean house