This is a guest post by Emily Baughman. If you want to guest post on Go Backpacking, please read more here.
The Smell of Genocide
I once burned (accidentally) three strands of my hair
heavy putrid wafts swallowed the room
and all adjoining enclaves down the hall.
Does my nose dare imagine
a head of blonde disappearing to black ash?
What is the smell of genocide?
Is it gardenias that grow in Rwanda?
flourishing in blood-rich soil
the fragrance of spring, this fanciful Venetian mask
like rose water enshrouding a cheap whore
forevermore the musk of atrocity
What is the smell of genocide?
Or the crows in Poland savaging for
worms squirming their way among human skulls.
the defecation of the living
the sweet smelling mockery of lesser forms
What is the smell of genocide?
Perhaps, the sharp cloud of cadaverine
when the upper arm becomes a humerus
When the last drops of marrow
seeped from the bleached bones of Cambodia.
What is the smell of genocide?
Abandoned shoes of old rotting leather.
The warden's sandalwood cologne.
The garlic breath of the executioner.
What is the smell of genocide?
What is the smell of genocide?
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About the Author: Emily Baughman has a big appetite for unconventional adventures. She also enjoys sticky rice. Contact her at emilyabaughman(at)gmail.com
Photos: David Lee
