the bath

tonight you lay in a casket surrounded by delirious tears and terrified whispers.
your dress is periwinkle, you always wanted to be remembered by a deep purple.
the church is filled with a black curtain of strangers,
you had always dreamed of being released into the wind over an ocean or into a forest.

yesterday, you woke up and made breakfast.
the whir of the egg beater meddled with the smell of bacon in your eyes.
toast. you counted one, two, and they descended into an orange wired hell.
with a sputter, the bacon is molded into the eggs.
snap. your toast pops out, a light bulb flickers.

yesterday evening, you decide you're tired.
your boss yelled and yelled and yelled and you deserve a scented bath,
you slowly press into the water, lavender and vanilla snaking around your toes.
you linger a little too long in the calming water, turn the knob to warm up the sanctuary.
ripples of water greet your thighs and you remember the day with a sigh.
you remember the toaster with a sigh.
you make yourself toast. with a sigh.