Tricholoma saponaceum
by Martijn Benders
Soap-nighting through the ferns, the bog
is sudding the lye – a ridder
in verdigris sark wades up the rot,
his visor beaded shut.
Where the knife goes in, he pinks.
The wash-house opens on its steam:
wrung sheets of a grandmother’s Monday,
her arms in tub to the elbow,
nothing to be got out of the linen
but more linen. Say waschküchengeruch –
the hillside fences out its gray, something
down there is still in the water.
It surfaces grey. It is put under.
It is brought up and brought up for the washing.
© 2026 Martijn Benders All rights reserved.
“Seifenritterling” was first published in Foloton, August 2026
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