Useful Until You Weren't

The sponge was already dying when I picked it up.

Yellow, bloated, holes collapsing into themselves.

I held it under the hot water anyway,

watching the black specks bloom inside it,

watching the structure fail.

My hand just stayed there. Didn't put it down.

Didn't reach for a new one.

It's the closest I get to understanding anything—

holding something that's falling apart

and not stopping it. Letting the water

pour through the weakest parts.

Letting the thing that was useful become

a thing that's just breaking in your hand.

The sponge gave up. I threw it out.

There's a new one under the sink now,

firm and yellow and full of holes

that still hold water.

I'll use it until it doesn't.