Washing the Dishes by Hand
Kari Ann Ebert Fingers flick hot water from the faucet. I abandoned the dishwasher long ago, need to feel the heat, handle the plates, witness the bubbles- newborn and shiny- rise in the kitchen sink. I swim back to the secret cove off Melton Lake Drive, recall the white of your chest as you jump off the dock towards me- a shadow in the lake. I spread my fingers in the lather, form a delicate web of froth, drift back to our first winter stateside - the blizzard of ’96. The children’s faces grow pink in the cold, eyelashes turn white with crystals. They refuse to come inside, twilight stretches into bedtime. I rinse saucer, then teacup, place them in the drainer to dry. The sun disappears behind dogwoods, soap foam fades to cutwork lace, water stands cold in the sink. I reach deep, feel for anything forgotten, grasp one last spoon. |
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About the Author: Kari Ann Ebert’s poetry has appeared in cahoodaloodaling, The Broadkill Review, and Gargoyle as well as the anthology, Aurora. She was a 2016 Seashore Writers Retreat fellow and has a forthcoming collaborative project with the Delaware Humanities Forum. Kari lives in Delaware and has two grown children.