finding a place to be

as you unload
the dishwasher
again,
as you've done
every other day
for as long as
you can remember,
there is a rhythmn
to the bend and
opening of
cabinet doors,
still hot or
warm, each dish or
spoon holding it's
own idea of heat,
the clink and hurry
of it all,
flat dishes here,
the bowls go up
there, glasses with
the other glasses,
of course, and
cups. the shuffle
of silverware into
the proper bed
of drawers. everything
with a place to
be, and you, when
done, keep moving
towards her.