The Smell of Bluebells
Spring scents activate memories
of spring scents, which swell them out
to drenching. But bluebells fragrance oblivion
here at this woodland corner hospice
in which they’re born to fade away,
sighing in sedation an elite perfume
thin as homeopathy, costing thousands
in their death-bed legacies, lost and held
and lost again and gone. Remembrance
is a traceless abstraction, the favourite smell
unknown beyond this renewing mass
extinction, the sweetened cull of spring.
Paul Connolly’s poems have appeared in Nine Muses Poetry, Agenda, Warwick Review, Poetry Salzburg, The Reader, Scintilla, Dawntreader, Takahē, Dream Catcher, Orbis, The Journal, FourXFour, Seventh Quarry, Sarasvati, Envoi, Obsessed with Pipework, Southlight, High Window, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Northampton Poetry Review, London Grip, and The Cannon’s Mouth.