The sink fills, the hot water turns the Dawn to suds,
To slight bubbles; these are last night’s dishes,
The ones we left undone, so now I make the clatter
And scrape of doing the undoing of the mess we made
Last night; things stick when left too long; the sponge
And steel wool scratcher help; pasta past its time
Begins to harden, clings to the plates, the tomato
Sauce becomes as much stain as substance, too much
Like blood left this long to even think of that analogy.
This is the morning after a meal that ended like this,
So much to clean up, so much to put away; I’m here
In the midst of it, a memory turned to this, the dishes
Emerging like new as the water cools, as I look off
In the distance wondering what else I could possibly do.
J.K. Durick
Remembering
What vague generalizations
we’ve become
descending those stairs
silently crossing the hall
crossing over the sill
looking back
one more time
and finally
closing the door.
J.K. Durick
In Retirement
There’s a silence all around today,
Like yesterday, all along the street
The neighbors’ houses sit, quiet as
Grave stones, cars in driveways stay
Silent, lending a solemnity to it all
The birds and squirrels, the only
Other citizens of our world, are absent
Their presence would disturb this
Oddly perfect Thursday morning;
It comes down to this after all
After all the planning and loud voices
The choosing and choices, the things
We set in place and counted on, counted
Off, all the things we tried to be but
Never were, come down to this after all
Life becomes oddly perfect Thursday
Mornings, our calendar fills up with them,
Nothing to distract from the silence of
Them, even memories have failed us in
This morning, this presence we have become
J.K. Durick
