Poem: Empty Nest

she comes home to roost
her nest now
quiet, soothing
filled with the faint trace of her scent
and the smell of roses

only the front door is shut
only the front door is locked
other doors open wide

she lights candles one on
each rounded corner of the bathtub

five of different heights
on a smooth, square, beige plate
on the closed toilet seat

three, mystic and calm
each on a small, circular silver plate
on the sink counter

she slips out of jeans
jockey blue silk briefs
arms forming an arabesque
pulls the black knit turtleneck over her head
lets it drop to the floor
soon followed by a purple lace bra
which falls swiftly
joining the soft pile of fabric on the rough, Spanish tile

she draws the bath
steam rising
hot water pouring
the faucet glistens with condensation
and the flickering candlelight

she pours chamomile and lavender foam bath
slowly
into the filling tub

she swirls the water
mounds of foam and bubbles form

but she has forgotten the wine


she does not reach for the thick, Egyptian-cotton towel
nor the blue bathrobe

she moves naked down the hallway
into the kitchen
retrieves her glass of Chardonnay
and returns to the bath
to find the smooth, pleasing mounds of froth
rising high in the tub

she steps into the bath, sinks down
the foam embraces her, cleaves to her
surrounds her, toes to ears

through the avalanche of a million, a billion tiny bursting foam bubbles
she hears Bach’s Fugue in G Minor
drifting down the hall from the living room through the open door

later, the water drained, just a wisp of white clinging to the porcelain
the candles out
after dancing in warm glow to Brahms Hungarian Dance No. 5
still naked on the couch she sits
writing

“only the front door is shut
only the front door is locked
other doors open wide…”

©Birdstory Publications 2005