Before her glassy eyes, crystal bubbles seem
to strangely dance.
Slipping down into the water as deeply as she can,
she revels in the liquid warmth enwrapping her.
Such contrast this is to the crispness of the air around her!
Before running her bath, she felt compelled
to turn off all the heat in the house.
Now she reaches for her glass on the edge of the tub.
Bringing it to her lips, she savors one last time the wine,
her one small taste of "heaven"
from the bottle now lying nearly empty
where it spilled out to wet the floor’s cold tiles.
Very relaxed, she sets the glass back down beside her.
It topples over. The woman hears it shatter. . . yet she lies still.
Intoxicated (as was her plan),
she lays the sharp edge of a razor blade against her wrist.
Making sure to clutch it well,
she slices through veins but feels no pain.
Then the other side. . . Red fluid threads
stream among the fading fizz (all that now remains of the dancing bubbles).
And as she drifts off into numbing unconsciousness,
it dawns on her that her tub has somehow become unplugged!
She is too lightheaded. . . too feeble now to move.
The heated fragrant water slowly and steadily subsides.
A sharp chill invades her body.
With her final breaths, the woman thinks of how her one last plan -
to be discovered immersed completely in water -
has ended up just like every other messed up thing she ever did
and how her plan,
like the water of her "perfect" bath,
For Debbie Guzzi’s Referential Poetry Contest
* pain, slip, wet, numb were the words of reference:
Please see the poem "Cyanide" by Cyndi MacMillian.