Oquaga Lake

 

Oquaga Lake

By Teak Kilmer

June 30th, 2014

 

 

The Sense of smell

was given us to

beckon or repel

 

Oquaga Lake

 

Leaving Binghamton, New York

on Old Route 17 from home

the grasses, pines and wildflowers

coalesced evermore into Joi de vries

for the soul of this young boy –

so sensitive, so pummeled by the city

by its coal smoke, exhaust fumes

its pressures and sweaty toils

 

I never think of home

Twenty-one St. John Avenue

without recollections of my

paranoid schizophrenic, drug-vegetized …

or raging, seldom bathed, cold creamed

despairing mother’s odors …

oft exaggerated by her anxiety of

having to face another moment …

or was that my angst infused aroma?

Certainly both

 

But, oh, Oquaga Lake –

that smell of sea weed pheromones

decaying flora, sun drenched ions, ozone

and dirt roads, abandoned tennis courts

cedar shakes, our joy in being

and playing in the wild out of doors

the rotting of old garages and sheds

 seeds and cones, dead squirrels’ bones

baking pies melodering through open windows

 

Oh, take me back in time to that outdoors

Embellish me in the smells of Mother Nature

comforting, loving, nurturing, exhilarating

regenerating Mother Earth

Oh, how I do love the out of doors!