Scrubbing a pan grease gliding away

Scrubbing a pan, grease gliding away,

the sponge in my hand, gritty memories sway.

Each stain pulls me back to the kitchens of youth,

to splashes and laughter, and maybe some truth.

It soaked up the spills, soaked up the noise,

while I learned the sharp edges of careless joys.

Familiar, yet strange, it holds all my grime,

like pieces of me still caught in the clime.