Dishes

Sometimes when I am washing the dishes I cry It is the one and almost only time I have to completely stop in one spot Without a phone or a person to fill the silence I hear everything I see everything My slow, heavy tears fall through my hands and into the soapy water As I picture her buttoning up the back of my white dress As the flash of photographers blends into the soft glow of light through the curtains behind me As I feel her laugh under her breath and into my back because she is nervous and can’t quite find the right way to align the right button with the right loop As I look up to find my sister’s eyes watching on the same way I did when it was her day I can smell her And the slow heavy tears become light and frequent As my body folds in half over the stainless steel sink The weight of my chest finding gravity I hear everything I see everything I hold the edge of the kitchen bench in my pulsing hands As I picture her holding them Through the cold frame of a hospital bed while I lay waiting to meet my babies As I picture her holding them As I imagine her sitting next to me on the couch in my living room in the early hours of the morning between feeds and sleep windows Talking to keep me awake, close and quiet enough that I fall asleep deeply when I get the chance Sometimes when I wash the dishes I cry It is the one and almost only time I allow myself to stop completely in one spot and feel the injustice of it all As the good dissolves into the dishes for a while

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Everyday