soaking in the warm
water, her large body
covered in soap
and bubbles.
she sipped a glass of champagne
her toenails sat
sticking out
like bright pink
icebergs.
her eyes closed
and relaxed, she knew the children
would not be home.
her husband was where he said
he wasn’t and she knew
they were broken.
but she was calm.
like a desert
breeze.
she looked into her eyelids
and saw work
waiting on Monday,
her son struggling with order
of operations, her daughter
knowing men better than her.
sinking in slowly,
her chest warmed like a
leather car seat in August
kissing the water it
submerged her plump
face
she gasped and sat up,
rubbed the soap from her
eyes
and saw a
ladder,
a golden ladder against
the back of the tub,
looking about the
bathroom and saw nothing
but the ladder,
which climbed up and into
the ceiling
which was now a sky!
a gleaming sky
with sparse white clouds,
oh, what a scene!
putting her hand out she
grasped the bottom rung,
her wet body half in water,
half out. She pulled hard
on that rung, but barely moved
again, she thought about Monday,
and the weight she couldn’t
carry.
a day she would see her boss,
her husband,
herself.
she finished the champagne.
she let her fat body
fall
into
the
water.
“Nearer my God to thee...,”
she sang into her wet eyelids
hoping angels can swim.
©David Moloney