Mis- by Kinga Fabó

He asked about my favourite scent.
Then left.
Now I’m singing, being

misgivingly polite,
for him a rest.
Silence. All the motions inside.

Seduced, suspended. There is
no way out. My own dark powers arrest.
Slowly growing killing cells

retaliate: retell
each word. Every gesture.
Never never never ends,

not even after my death.
Singing another – me – at best?
Better than a lover left.

Each word is some taking the hook.
I misunderstand to be
misunderstood.

Kinga

Kinga Fabó is a Hungarian poet (linguist, essayist). Her latest bilingual Indonesian-English poetry book is Racun/Poison 2015, Jakarta.

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