The Perfume Bottle
Tucked away in one of the dusty corners
of my my deceased mother’s old curio cabinets
sits a somewhat peculiar perfume bottle
among a small collection of other vials
devoid of the fragrances they so long ago retained.
This particular bottle that my gaze has rested on
has the shape of a woman’s lower leg.
What catches the eye
is the golden high heel it rests upon.
Tiny beads of glittery green
adorn its vamp and finishing edge.
I think of my dear mother
dressed for a night out on the town
in her mid-calf sparkly satin gown,
gliding smoothly on heels of gold which enhanced
the elegance of her long, slender legs.
As she paused at the door,
she’d kiss us on the cheek,
departing in a trail
of Chantilly.
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