Jan Oskar Hansen | + Follow Poet |
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The Invader

The Invader 

August night, air condition off no electricity, dying in my 
own “sweat,” a word I wasn’t going to use again. A sudden 
gush of hot air makes the curtain move, in a surprised way 
like an English castle ghost caught unaware in the armoury. 
The gush is full of crematorium ashes, cling to my face 
won’t come off; I’m tired have no strength, when I finally 
get to the bathroom, my face is clean, ash has gone through 
my skin followed the blood stream to my heart and brain. 
I know share my body with someone else; a soul that didn’t 
want to leave, but demanded more time. There have been 
subtle changes I have a hankering for tea, no milk and two 
lumps of sugar, I leave the loo lid down and keep bathroom 
clean. The feminine side of me keeps my coarse ego at bay; 
I do not sweat anymore but transpire.

Copyright © Jan Oskar Hansen | Year Posted 2016

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J. Tudor Date: 4/4/2016 3:34:00 PM Although we may not share a same boat, after reading many of your writings I feel I am, at the least, in the same vast empty ocean of years having gone by, and the scars and wounds that mar our aged skin remind us all too often, and in the most mundane of ways, of our loves and our regrets and even the transgressions of having lived so many years, you perhaps a few more years than I, but too many all the same. Sad, yet beautiful words Jan. Login to Reply