The empty nest is a crooked bitch.
Sometimes she is just a whisper in the day.
A constant reminder of sticky fingers and giggles.
Sometimes she puts an eight pound weight on your chest
and just sits there like an irritating, yapping terrier. Just loud enough to remind you
that something is amiss and there is not a squeaky toy in the world to soothe the ache.
Sometimes she is a thrashing wind, spinning out of control and the only way to tame its lonely, howling anger is to cry out!
Where are you?
Please visit me,
So I can remember.
Crisp autumn giggles
Thunderstorms and Batman
The acrid smoke of grandpa’s cigarettes.
The smell of frying bacon and the sound of popping corn.
And my heart when it was light and not so alone.
Alone in this Empty Nest.