Lament
You can't wash away the smell, of
the shared nights and beds, speaking of innermost sanctures and
desires. The stain is there. The name of pain permanently stamped
into your skin. You can't wash away the smell of love.
The only way to get rid of it, is to dance like hell and replace
that shared smell with one of your own. But it won't really be you.
It will be the smell of a desperate woman trying not to grow old before her
time. The smell of powder and lost dreams, too many kids and too little
time for the things she loves.
And she (this bitter old woman) will smell the love her
children have discovered. It will cast a spell for a short while.
Lost in her daydreams of life and love she will be congenial and polite.
When the intoxicating molocules of passion leave her olfactory sense she will
be the same and not the same, slow and full of regrets.
Perhaps a cold gleam will cross her eyes and it will
become futile to expect anything from her. She will be locked in the
bathroom trying to wash away the lingering scent on her and wondering, what
went wrong?
(c) Megan Knotz 1996
