A dark form floated near the bottom of the dishpan
My hand moved to retrieve it
For a wipe and a quick rinse
Before emptying the pan from the night before.
When I looked closer in disbelief,
The thin curved line behind the small dark form
Where will deeper take me?
My mother would say, “You left your dishwater overnight?”
My daughter would say, “Mom, why don’t you get a dishwasher?”
My granddaughter would say,
“Grannie, you’ve got to take better care of your visitors.”
My mother, that fifties stay at home mom,
Her house always straightened
And left in good shape at night,
So, morning was not a reminder of
Things left undone
But a welcome to a new day.
That modern woman who does it all,
A full-time job, three kids, a dog and a cat,
But with the help of the latest
Appliances and gadgets
And a modern husband.
My granddaughter, the latest edition,
Looking forward to graduate school
A profession and a family
With time left over to be vegan
And to think about the finer points
Of ethics and responsibility
For not only preserving earth
But keeping even its smallest inhabitants extant.
It happens, and I try to understand it
By writing about it.