Ken Leighton 11:30 a.m., Dec. 14
The Zen Of Housework
- I look over my shoulder
- down my arms
- to where they disappear under water
- into hands inside pink rubber gloves
- moiling among dinner dishes.
- My hands lift a wine glass,
- holding it by the stem and under the bowl.
- It breaks the surface
- like a chalice
- rising from a medieval lake.
- Full of the grey wine
- of domesticity, the glass floats
- to the level of my eyes.
- Behind it, through the window
- above the sink, the sun, among
- a ceremony of sparrows and bare branches,
- is setting in Western America.
- I can see thousands of droplets
- of steam — each a tiny spectrum — rising
- from my goblet of grey wine.
- They sway, changing directions
- constantly — like a school of playful fish,
- or like the sheer curtain
- on the window to another world.
- Ah, grey sacrament of the mundane!
More from SDReader
- The Zen Of Housework — June 6, 2012