Tonight's dishes: I stand at the sink assessing the pile up. Food debris in the drain. Crumbs around the brim. Five fruit flies. Small plates. Large plates. A Tiny wooden spoon used to feed my child. Splattered yams. I look out the window and take in the last remnants of the today's sun. I notice a frown invade my face and try my best to straighten it. I pull my chin up and begin the cleaning process again, as I have done so many times before, at this very sink and others like it. I turn on the left faucet and then the right. I hold my crooked hands under water and pour soap over dishes. I inhale the smell of the soap - a blend of grapefruit and clean socks. I grab a tired blue sponge and begin scrubbing. I think of bacteria festering under my fingernails. I scrub. Front and back. I think about filling up a bowl and using less water - I've been to countries where people have no water at all - but the water continues to run. I am guilty. Washing. Rinsing. Stacking the dishes on a slippery rack. Drying my hands with a towel. Straightening my frown into a line.
