Cups slick-shined, Sinking in the soap, With wrinkled hands, Holding and splashing Beneath the faucet, Leaking and dripping Hot water like this Moment was a ripple And nothing that happens now Will ever flow upstream to Catch us offguard With our gloves off Reaching for Shards of glass With scalded hands Through rose-red water, Spreading and melding. Still you smile, Then grimace, As you grab hold and pull Breaking for the surface. Broken glass and rose-red water Are merely momentary lapses. You must wash those dishes.