Fragrance
I saw her by the kitchen window,
hands engaged in fixing dinner,
a whistle from her lips embroidering
the night air. Breaking into song, her
face a portrait of beauty and grace.
Hands in soapsuds now, cleaning
dishes then wiping them dry with
the care she would exercise as if
she were dabbing away a child's
tears. Pots and pans now scrubbed
to mirror cleanliness she placed
them lovingly back on their shelves,
flicks off the switch, plunging the room
into darkness, the music receding
as she moved from the kitchen
into the living room, gradually
disappearing until it was if she had
never been there. Only her fragrance
remained.
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