Mrs Jean-Baptiste Grenouille
*“I promise not to tell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulations for pressing flowers.”*
Nirvana - ‘Scentless Apprentice’
His love caught me off guard.
I’m dressed in black; veiled.
Mother’s sewn bustier, each stitch
caressing gentle curves, ribbon
drawing in the inches,
lace ornamenting my *******
Perfume weighing heavy in
the air, clinging to my
porcelain skin.
I watched him.
He strolled towards me
maintaining a dignified silence.
He closed his eyes, & took a breath
as if his life depended on my scent.
Was this who I thought it to be;
the Devil himself?
Had father invited him,
to Laure’s funeral?
I knew little of him then.
I knew he stalked the naked human –
killing young girls, barely fourteen,
making perfume from hair & clothes.
I knew he was abandoned
by his mother – leaving him
in piles of fish.
He was born scentless - I senseless.
I knew Laure wasn’t the first,
& certainly would not be
the last.
I sit tonight, & I remember certain
nights. How he’d leave the house
meeting a new lover, & return home
speaking of his conquests.
I would smile.
“You are my muse!” he would whisper.
“I no longer want to be, the Scentless Apprentice,
I want to be Grenouille the Great!”
Each morning he would speak to me.
I would wake soon after; dawn breaking.
He & I,
we compose a morning sky.
© Sia Jane
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Mrs Jean-Baptiste Grenouille
*“I promise not to tell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulations for pressing flowers.”*
Nirvana - ‘Scentless Apprentice’
His love caught me off guard.
I’m dressed in black; veiled.
Mother’s sewn bustier, each stitch
caressing gentle curves, ribbon
drawing in the inches,
lace ornamenting my *******
Perfume weighing heavy in
the air, clinging to my
porcelain skin.
I watched him.
He strolled towards me
maintaining a dignified silence.
He closed his eyes, & took a breath
as if his life depended on my scent.
Was this who I thought it to be;
the Devil himself?
Had father invited him,
to Laure’s funeral?
I knew little of him then.
I knew he stalked the naked human –
killing young girls, barely fourteen,
making perfume from hair & clothes.
I knew he was abandoned
by his mother – leaving him
in piles of fish.
He was born scentless - I senseless.
I knew Laure wasn’t the first,
& certainly would not be
the last.
I sit tonight, & I remember certain
nights. How he’d leave the house
meeting a new lover, & return home
speaking of his conquests.
I would smile.
“You are my muse!” he would whisper.
“I no longer want to be, the Scentless Apprentice,
I want to be Grenouille the Great!”
Each morning he would speak to me.
I would wake soon after; dawn breaking.
He & I,
we compose a morning sky.
© Sia Jane
Final class challenge. Writing in the voice of another - taking something from literature, myth etc and considering the wife/partner/husband of that person. For more about the inspiration for this piece see; Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is a 1985 literary historical cross-genre novel (originally published in German as Das Parfum) by German writer Patrick Süskind.