Some days I can’t see any beauty in you.
Or you, or you or you.
… no wait, wait…. what? It’s 2022.
It’s getting late.
How often do I forget how early it is?
Remember to breathe
look at the floor
turn the dish over and over in my hands
its clean, smooth, squeaks under my thumb
I’m ok one more time.
Then ever so quietly my mother says “Oh, yes, please go get some air. Leave the rest of us here to suffocate.”
I can finish the dishes.
Of course, I can.
I can finish.
There’s beauty in being useful.