i am doing dishes.

scrub. scrub. scrub.

grip the sink when the wave hits -

this floor will not give out

from under me.

words somehow curl their way

around the sound

of the running water

steam so hot it burns my hands

rubbed raw in my

Mom's friend's kitchen sink

"It sucks that we

have to learn to think

this way-"

scrub harder. hold the tears.

glasses fogged from heat, good.

this is not about you.

pull it together.

"- I mean, I had parked on the driveway but she

made me park on the street

so we can't be blocked in.

I didn't even think-"

rinse coffee grinds right down the drain

cool water joins to soothe the burn -

i am not

twenty four

any longer.

i am seven.

i am doing dishes.

no, i am nineteen.

i have just been told

one week ago

to have a nice life

by one who was supposed

to be there.

i am nineteen

and i have been kicked out

on the eve before the lockdown

for a global pandemic

and

i am not twenty-four.

i am nineteen.

and i have walked into the kitchen and i have walked into the kitchen

of my father's second ex-wife

and i greet the kids

and make myself useful

because that is what i do.

even while my boyfriend whispers with her,

and when he comes to say goodbye;

i am busy doing dishes.

wash it all away.

scrub harder until i forget

because all I feel is soap and dishwater

and the sting from the heat,

all I see is the steam and the piles and piles

one problem I can solve.

this, I can do.

I can do the dishes.

the world could end

but at least I would know the peace

of a clean kitchen sink,

first.

mom's friend hasn't slept.

but that is why we're here -

to help, to feed, to be Together.

we know

domestic violence

intimately,

deeply.

but sometimes

the very best thing

that anyone could do

is to step in and take charge.

so we are here with hot food

set out dinner

they are talking

over cheesecake

(hold the wine).

and i am doing dishes.