Empty Nest

David Tay Ang Shun

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The drive back from the airport is always a wreck
the 7th Mile traffic light turns red/
two minutes / glass thoughts / nowhere to turn
and then it all/
breaks

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Back home,
I open the gates
"I'm home"/
(what I won't hear for the next 6 months
who am I even saying it to?—)

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I drag my feet upstairs 
into his room

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the emptied wardrobe/
gathering dust
the ironing board/
cold and wasted
the towel rack/
one arm vacant
the bed/
going to lose his mould
the bed/
I make every day because he never does what I ask him to
the bed/
will stay made now.

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The nest/
that I made/
will stay made/ 

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for my little boy when he comes back into my arms.