Aroma of Yesterday

They took me to
Her,
the lady in the
village,
and laid me on her
table.
Naked child
I was
as she forced my arms and legs
to meet
and rubbed me with olive oil and garlic
while she chanted in Italian,
frightening the demons that lived in my body
away
to a place she invented.
She prayed over me,
making the sign of the cross,
and when she was through
she guaranteed my health
and they
took me back home,
happy and convinced of her
powers.
I can still see
that table and her toothless smile,
and now when I emerge from the
shower,
lathering myself with the creamy white
lotion
that smells of June berries,
I inhale its aroma,
remembering the clove from which
I came
and the smell of my ancestry
that still lives in
me.