See a child. Water swept up my nose: a flip under waves or submerging too quickly. Pain and tears for pollen, dust, dander: fodder for weeping sinuses. Admire my cranial bulge. It fills to the brim between the eye sockets. I float from room to room, scattering tissues. Over the counter and into the living room, cast-off plastic decongestant overpackaging completes the decor.

See the nose as it was: an enemy combatant; a rogue traitor to the body blacksheeping its best features forward — promising breath and delivering precious few months in twelve.

Shoot forward and back: tough love for the nose and a saturated embrace. Memories flood in through this tiny teapot: the agony tribulations of nasal ignorance are cleansed. Womb status achieved. Salt water once so painful brings bliss. This brain sings with renewed breath.

Sea the magic teapot. Rub. Repeat. In one nostril and out the other. Nose is thy friend.