Betäubung | Bestäubung | poetry

came back to a city that I call home

with a suitcase

containing the belongings of a dead person

and when I take out the content

everything of mine

smells like him

as if funerals didn’t matter

and I make room for a scent disembodied

the air coming into my room takes on his scent

and something moves

I spread out his clothes on my bed

and look at the lack of limbs, the lack of skin

the absence of his body

what he wore on photographs

inheritance on my bed

the belt with its added holes

the sleeves, the neckline, worn once or twice

the perfume he used

particles of him on the cloth

and I fold but cannot wash

that’s the point

I wear him out

on my skin

funerary washing machine

My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2022 | Instagram: croque_melpomene

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