As I reach for the dish soap,

and turn on the faucet,

I don’t expect anything.

It’s a task I do a lot.

But, there’s something about water,

that transforms the ordinary.

Being near the Ocean,

soaking in the tub,

walking in the rain.

Evocative,

private,

expansive,

meditative.

But, I’m just cleaning up after all!

It’s a day, like so many others.

I want to get the dishes done,

get the kids to bed,

and enjoy my tea, and ice cream.

I’m exhausted, but I don’t mind doing the dishes.

In fact, I often offer to do them.

Certainly, it’s a bit of time to myself.

As I submerge my hands, into the warm water,

the familiar smell of soap rises from the suds.

I’m transported unexpectedly,

as I feel warm tears streaming down my face.

Inhaling soap and steam,

tasting my salty tears,

face to face with the grief,

I’ve been desperately trying to ignore,

I succumb.

The kids call out to me from the parlor,

and I return.

“I’m coming,” I say, “I’m just doing the dishes.”

***