Until The Door Opens
Reading Time: 2 minutes
When someone has died in the hospital, the rucksack sits at home refusing to take in the facts, expecting soon to be picked up in passing en route out to the bike like every work day For a time, inside the locked apartment, the deceased stays alive in all things still owning their purposes, their household commissions; the bed expecting to have its pillows arranged, the alarm clock eagerly waiting to be turned off, the lamp, according to time of day, expecting to be either turned on or off It is painful to enter and interrupt all objects in their preparedness; to belittle them, take them off duty and see them transform into property left, but only then is the deceased properly dead, himself become a thing amongst things, an object for ceremonial sorrow and pain - but for as long as no one sticks the key into the front door and enters the kingdom of things, that up to that moment revels in its naturalness around a living person, everything is as it should among kettles, coffee cups, boiler, humming fridge and freezer, the pantry's richness of cereals and grains, wardrobes stuffed with clothes and the living room's CD-player and the TV on standby ...until the door opens... © Ingvar Loco Nordin 2023
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