Issue 4, October 2009
{
}+previous next story+ Phantosmia
Kimiko Hahn
The persistence might be turpentine for her,
Old Spice for you—this not relinquishing trauma,
accident or, say, benign humor.
Does she wish to walk away
from the room aerated with a pungency,
invisible and fatherly?
She tries to tell the nose to trust the nose:
It’s gone, the can of paint brushes!
Still, she is not allowed to withdraw
from that disorder of newspaper and tarpaulin
as if mildew were a means to affix.
I can’t
stop wondering if something was meant to smell sweet
or humiliate.
Kimiko Hahn
The persistence might be turpentine for her,
Old Spice for you—this not relinquishing trauma,
accident or, say, benign humor.
Does she wish to walk away
from the room aerated with a pungency,
invisible and fatherly?
She tries to tell the nose to trust the nose:
It’s gone, the can of paint brushes!
Still, she is not allowed to withdraw
from that disorder of newspaper and tarpaulin
as if mildew were a means to affix.
I can’t
stop wondering if something was meant to smell sweet
or humiliate.
Copyright © 2007-2009 Storyscape Journal ISSN 1941-3157