Thoughts in the Dishes

I wash dishes endlessly, but I do not pay it mind. Torrent thoughts into
my daily tasks, and memories long
forgotten, surfacing above the graying water like coffee cups of every shade.

Twirling in whimzical waxy Crayola
pencils, which we asked
to borrow, and my precious “neon” Gel pens, make a card for her
twelfth birthday.

I handed the crumpled,
sweaty dollar bills to the
camp snack bar attendant for
some Reese’s, and a bottle of
Code Red Mountain Dew,

all a part of a present
that she giggled with glee over,
and she loved the hearts and butterflies hand-drawn.

All she wanted that Summer
was to hike with someone to
the waterfalls, but it was sweltering
in North Texas, so I went swimming
every afternoon instead.

When camp was over we said goodbye,
but being a member of the same church, it didn’t seem so final,
until the day my parents asked me if
I knew her.

Sometimes I still feel the ice cold
sensation, like death itself has gripped
my heart, laughing at my bewilderment
as he spares me and takes those I love.

I splash into the old sink water,
blindly feeling to pull the plug,
and watch dully as water
spirals down the drain.

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