This is a letter from a kitchen cloth to a bath & and body work perfume. Inspired by one of my favorite poets, Sarah Kay, I’ve decided to do my own version of her Poem: “Tooth Brush to the bicycle tire.” My poem, in no way, can compare to Sarah Kay’s poem, but this is just a fun exercise to get me writing!
To the red bottle of perfume that lives in the bathroom,
I know I haven’t had the pleasure of officially meeting you, but since the beginning of forever, you have captured my attention and perhaps, even my heart.
It only started with a scent. A perfumed fragrance in the breeze that wafted down to my humble abode. A spray rubbed against human skin, a smell that enchanted the whole kitchen. Do not get me wrong, I have smelt perfume before, but you were different.
A cyclone of roses and strawberries, a summer smell of sweetness, a sneak peak of your beauty.
Your scent was an intoxicating lure of luxury that left my edges frizzy and frazzled. From the mere waft of your essence, you summoned fantasies of a future of what could be. You made me want to be more than just a piece of cloth. For you I wanted to be more than just an inanimate object. I wanted to be the woman who wore you. I wanted to be the lipstick that sat next to you on the makeup vanity. I wanted to be anything that got be closer to you.
Having you near me made me question existence, and such thoughts swirled my mind every time we came in contact.
What is a man without a world?
What is nature without its organisms?
What is my life without you?
I know I have little to offer you, but I would do anything to prove my loyalty.
To keep you in my world, I would go through the seven hells and back. For you I would suffer. For you I would persevere. For you I would endure, and trust when I say, I would never bother you with what I go through, for what I do is not even a fraction compared to what I would wish to do for you.
Let me be your cover of protection. Let me wrap myself around you and warm you with my presence. My texture may not be the smooth silk you truly deserve—it may not be anything close to what you hope and desire—but I promise to keep you dry and safe, always.
I’d gladly dry every messy stain on any countertop if it meant letting you sit on a surface as pristine as your nature.
I would suffer the trauma of the washing machine, over and over again and again, if it would make me worthy to be near you.
I would rather be hand washed and horrifyingly squeezed before being clipped to a clothes line than have to lose you.
In this big house, I have only a slim chance of seeing you—yet every day I pray for a single glimpse or whiff of your beauty. Being a feet within your reach lifts me from my humble misery of a life. The times where we’re both sharing the same counter top are memories I deeply cherish. I tell myself that you and I have shared a moment. A moment where you finally notice me.
However, these moments don’t come often. In this big house with many rooms, you rest elegantly by the vanity mirror in the bathroom. I am sadly not just a hallway away from you. I reside in the one place where the smelliest rubbish bin is, living in the place where flies wish to hover, and I hang from the oily, sticky oven door handle. An area of the house you’d never be placed in. A place you wouldn’t desire to be placed in.
You on the other hand, are surrounded by objects of beauty and care. You live in the white glow of the vanity mirror. You bask in the fresh odor of soap and shampoo and the warm fog that comes from the shower. Your world and mine are two different planets, and our everyday uses are vastly different.
Yet knowing this, I still can’t help but want you. When the fridge opens and the scent of strawberries brushes against me, I think instantly of you. Your mist of white birch, velvet rose, and strawberry makes me crinkle in shy humility—I know I do not deserve to be anywhere near you.
And yet, you help me forget the garlic breath clinging to my hems. I envy the breeze that carries you through the air because the idea of the world basking in your presence while I remain here saddens me.
You make me feel like linen on a spring line.
Yours in silent longing,
The grey kitchen towel hung at the oven.
Here are the amazing muses that helped me write this. The perfume is “you’re the one” by Bath and body works, if you’re curious. The kitchen towel came from somewhere in Fiji, I think. Not sure though.
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