Dishes

I wash, you rinse.
Hot water scalds our hands.
Bubbles float above the sink.
Grimy bubbles.
Undesirable--
like our bad days.
Those we pop quickly with our hands.

Among filth,
some are beautiful.
Those we try to gently hold in our hands.
But, like our striking moments,
they sparkle,
drift away,
vanish.

So we continue,
you and I,
to wash the pile of dishes.
With bubbly laughter,
sparkling eyes,
we experience the chore
together.