You Stand Alone

You stand alone.

It is dark and cold —

the way you and I

like it the best.

I have always loved you.

You usually have this

strong smell

under your cover.

It gives me power

to deal with all

the other inhabitants.

They force in.

I am but a bit worried.

Mornings, a flesh-and-

blood creature

takes you out on the table.

First I turn on the light

and see you in that

short moment of despair

as you leave me.

Then silence

and darkness overall.

I dislike my own

coldness.

I hear the whispers

from the room,

but I don’t

know your name.

The door opens and

I beam in expectation —

seeing that you

again have lost weight.

Will you survive?

Will it be soon?

How shall I say

goodbye to you?

Evening comes,

and light again.

I send a scent of you

out into the room.

You are gone.

Someone grated

you — and I smell

your hot embrace.

Next day, the light

was turned on.

A fresh cover came.

A new smell.

It isn’t you, but

hey — you smell

wonderful,

powerful, young!

The old refrigerator

has its favourite on board.

The cheese changes —

and he likes that

new smelly face

every time!

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Author's Note

Henrik Hageland is a Danish writer and poet who moves between the deeply personal and the playfully absurd. While much of his work explores grief, memory, and transformation, he also enjoys letting humor sneak into the fridge and surprise him with a whiff of inspiration — or cheese.

This poem started with a whisper from an old wedge in the back of the refrigerator. The rest practically wrote itself. And is now a contribution to Oneg in the Arctic’s unofficial "Inanimate Love"-challenge.

Because sometimes, poetry is just love. And sometimes, it’s dairy.