Missing you

 

 

 

At the sudsy soapy sink
I think,
with hands that have a care.

Wrinkled fingers, rosy pink,
would rather be elsewhere.

That eggy fork with yolky tines
needs scrubbing carefully.
I’m thinking more of valentines,
and Christmases to be.

The curvature of salad bowls,
the roundness of a spoon.
They summon back, in sweet repose,
my lady of the moon.

 

 

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s