On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, bodily fluids and functions punctuate bonds between characters, time and space. A fart echoed from a grandmother to a grandson. A public urination by a defiant, anguished mother. The meaty, minty breaths of johns and bullies.
This brings to mind, the fingerprint scent of a person’s closet that laundry detergent could never seal off. It took me awhile to recognize that it was uniquely mine. This smell, much like the impossibility of looking into your own eye, is rarely acknowledged apart from yourself. Initially, I thought it was a new clothes smell that lingered–a sharp tang mixed with cardboard.
There is a woman, a man, an entire family, an ancestry of people buried in graves with a matching scent that have soaked deep into their sheets and pajamas. They are somewhere. I may never meet them.