The smell of death lingers
In the bathroom
I put poison out
For the mice
Or the rat
When I smell that smell
Somebody
Has died
This smell
I cannot get away from it
It’s miasma
Rolls like fog
From the corner
Someone has died there
Their body lies there
Decomposing
Do you know
Otters collect
Stones?
They hold them close to themselves
Sure
They are tools
To break open shellfish
But they seem
To have a comfort
In holding them close
Otters
Are very cute
It’s been months
Meanwhile
My friend has died
I don’t want this to be poetic
It’s a real thing
Not a poetic
Or spiritual thing
There are ways to sugarcoat this
To smooth it over
My friend
Never liked sugarcoating
licking honey
Off a razor blade
The honey is poetry
It’s spirituality
Let’s make it nice
Death stinks
It cuts your tongue
It’s real
In that way.
