A pile of glittery rubble,
Soapy opal rainbow bubbles,
Buddhist monk on TV says,
“You can only wash the dish in your hand”
(w)hol(l)y gratitude, transfixed by mountains,
If this, is, all there is,
I’ll be the soap if you be the dish,
I once made a sign for his mother’s kitchen,
It said, “wishes don’t do dishes” and it wasn’t my intention,
To change direction,
But sometimes the wind calls you to go,
In the direction of soap,
Sometimes hard work feels like it’s all I’ll ever know,
But, like our ancestors, before I know it, it’ll be my time to go,
The once crowded sink,
Clean and empty.
Photo credit: Beauty Insider/Snapchat Stories
Faithful Fractals: Poetic Prayers 