NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Day 8 — Three Facets

(damned soundcloud.  I've been waiting for 45 minutes for this to "process."  
It was done on the 8th.  I swear.)




Three Facets

I.

It is strange to place
a smell that has been so long 
lost to memory,

to realize that
you did not feel its missing
until you found it

waiting for you, a 
breath of absence in the room
that clings and orbits

around you and the 
dying dog.  It is not yours.
It is not a gift.

It is left for us by the
living as they leave. 



II.

It is strange to come 
across a thing waiting just 
here for just you to 

find its missing at 
this right moment, next to the 
kiss that you placed on 

your mother’s brow when 
you asked her if she wanted
to go home to die.

These are not things that
I can understand.  They are
the same life.  Their deaths

smell much the same no matter
who does the dying.



III.

It is a strange place
to find yourself, on this
bare floor between these

two like epigraph
and epilogue, both ends and 
both beginnings,

simultaneous
and arbitrary bookends,
heavy with hollow.  

Who could have guessed that 
you would find your self in this 
simple act, waiting 

for you to tell it apart 
from where you found it?







A trio of haiku sonnets
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6 thoughts on “NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Day 8 — Three Facets

  1. (Yup. Soundcrud and WierdPress. I’m surprised we manage at all.)

    What a nice group of poems. You have a delicate touch with death.
    “Their deaths
    smell much the same no matter
    who does the dying.”

    Very very nice.

  2. Yeah, what she said. Very very nice.

    Who can make sense of these scents?

    I sometimes wonder at those who make such an effort to clean and rid the home of those belongings and reminders, whether they be visual or olfactory, of those who have died. Is the pain too great or the longing to move on too strong?

    Thanks for sharing and giving me the pause to consider.

    • Thank you!
      Yes–the olfactory and the mnemonic are intricately interlaced. I think that I can understand how someone could desire this kind of purge, but can’t help but see it as a kind of denial. As if I can avoid thinking about someone’s absence by making believe they never existed.
      People are funny.
      Thank you for your words–especially as I now see this link (olfactory-mnemonic) in a number of other things I have written.
      Great food for thought–and poems!

      • A kind of denial, yes. Or trying to control the pain of the loss by amputation. You’d think we’d be smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but funny us – we do it anyway. Go figure.

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