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Cinnamon Peeler

The poem is about a cinnamon peeler who longs for his wife and wants to leave his scent on her so everyone knows she is his. They have an intimate encounter while swimming where they can be together freely without smell. She declares that she is the cinnamon peeler's wife and wants him to smell her, showing their passionate bond despite the restrictions of their society.

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priya roy
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532 views1 page

Cinnamon Peeler

The poem is about a cinnamon peeler who longs for his wife and wants to leave his scent on her so everyone knows she is his. They have an intimate encounter while swimming where they can be together freely without smell. She declares that she is the cinnamon peeler's wife and wants him to smell her, showing their passionate bond despite the restrictions of their society.

Uploaded by

priya roy
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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THE CINNAMON PEELER

Michael Ondaatje

If I were a cinnamon peeler


I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek


you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh


at this smooth pasture
neighbour to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you


before marriage
never touch you
—your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers . . .

When we swam once


I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women


the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me.

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