REVERIE
by Melissa Hager
after Home
by Cheyenne Chumley"I wish you had a dishwasher,"
my mother chimes
as we stare at the mound of dishes,
relics from our luncheon.
"I don't mind," I tell her
and I don't, as I later stand
lovingly washing every plate,
each wine glass and fork.
Smile at the memories made
over pork barbecue, heavenly
beans, coconut rum soaked
ice cream with salted caramel.
I remember Dad's smug grin
seizing a round of tumbling dice,
daughter's gloat as she rolls
over three grand,
Mom's comically dejected
face of Farkle
as she forfeits a straight
to a die gone bad.
Grapefruit powered dish detergent
scrapes away sauciness, adds
to my heightened senses.
A quiet revisit of the day in soapy hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment