A Single Lady and Her Dishwasher
Poetry
Alone
Yet there are enough plates that might indicate a big family
No family
Just too busy
To clean the dried microwaved lasagna from the China
I can stay with Dawn until dawn, scrubbing caffeinated sugar crystals from my spoons
I have no spoons left
Or forks
I occasionally consume my food by stabbing it with a butter knife on a paper mâché bowl
Or create chopsticks with the straws from my to-go
Despair in the air when I can’t eat cake
No party
Just a work anniversary
The big glistening machine in the corner is reminding me that she can help
power wash, dry, soak anything
Do I succumb to her siren call of efficient cleaning
Or dwell in my shame of needing her support
It’s just me, you know
No reason to have a dish moat
As I walk to her, she shows me my reflection along with the towering shadow of my deflection
She yells at me and explains that I must trust in her
she will hide who was really responsible for the spotless shine
So only she and I will know
My mother’s judgment will never reach the confined safety of her sturdy metal doors
The click of the handle welcomes me with compassion
The tray in her belly provides enough space for all my ashes
The therapeutics sounds she makes
Whooshing
Sloshing
Thumbing
It puts me in a trance and releases all the hypercritical fears from my body
She gleefully chimes to announce she has done her job
I pick the once russet stainless steel spoon and admire her work
Cake time
And when I am done
Before I set the confetti iced spoon in the sink
I look at her, smile, and rinse
