“The Scent of You is Clinging to This Room” by Sharon Rauenzahn
The scent of you is clinging to this room.
I cannot turn my head to get away
from knowing you have been here. Every day
it fades a little; cloth left on the loom
fades thus in sunlight. Soon, so very soon,
you shall be gone, and not be found again
no matter where I turn. I think the pain
will fade as quickly: slowness is no boon
for hearts too blind to keep account of time.
Will this fade fast or slow? I cannot tell:
my brain is addled, trying still to smell
what’s long since faded. In a warmer clime,
I should have done the washing, and would know:
that you are gone and gone, and will not go.
October 2, 1992