I threw out all the things that couldn’t be washed. I thought I might have to burn the bed linens. The pillows, too. They smelled of him, even after repeated washing. I smelled him. Still. Maybe the mattress should burn as well?
At my wits’ end, I went mad with memories at the scent of him. Or perhaps I was just mad. I wasn’t sure. Maybe I imagined the smell of him? And then it clicked. I needed to smudge, to cleanse him from this space.
I lit the bundle I’d bound with twine. Smoke twisted around my hand as I grasped the hawk's feather. I gently fanned the smoke as I slowly walked around the bed, then moved on to the rest of the rooms. With focused intention, white sage swirled throughout. I smudged myself as well, all around.
That night, as I lay me down,
No hint of him could be found.
I realized he is banished now.