My poor little cup protests

its fourth dishwasher trip in two days.

Get it off your chest, small friend,

we are in this together,

this family weekend,

this vortex of demands,

this avalanche of requirements,

these days of the rumbling dishwasher

drowned out by shouting children.

This living photo-album,

blur of beloved faces,

this noise and love,

this eating and drinking,

this tension,

this joy.

 

After a mountain of toilet paper and teabags,

the inner shame of

the finishing line

being such blessed relief.

I place the cup back on the shelf.

It gives me a wink and a smile.

We know what we have done.