I’ve only shopped for scents a few times

in my life, out of place in my unlabeled jeans and t-shirts,

but this establishment is irresistible. The bell rings

as I step inside and there it is in a chestnut-colored

bottle: Eau de Velvet Horse Nose, the smell

of uncomplicated love. And here’s Aroma of a Dog’s Cheek:

interdependence, solace. My friend picks up a bold red vial

labeled Being Right and Everyone Acknowledging It,

and if she doesn’t buy it for herself, I will.

For everyday, I suspect she’ll select Cold Brew with Cream.

I once worked in a library shelving books,

the most optimistic years of my life, so Dusty Tomes

nearly leaps into my hand. The shelves moved

in that library, gliding on electric runners, startling

when I was working at night and a coworker

pranked me. Maybe they even have

My Worst Fear is a Library Ghost, because these days

Yeats’ rough beast crowds the edges of my vision

no matter where I look. Maybe I should just

infiltrate the factory and churn out only Peace Perfume,

send it up in planes to be dropped like fabulous bombs

over the whole suffering earth. And what might that

smell like? Spring sunlight, chocolate fondue,

mint leaves, twin fawns hopping on their too-long legs,

with base notes of fresh beginnings and flight, the smooth

blues of the air caressing you every day you’re alive.

Katherine Riegel’s lyric memoir, Our Bodies Are Mostly Water, is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press in 2025. Her books include Love Songs from the End of the World and Castaway. Her work has appeared in Brevity, Catamaran, Orion, and elsewhere. Co-founder of Sweet, she teaches online workshops. Find her at katherineriegel.com.