Memories in Absorption

Scrubbing the kitchen, the sponge in my hand,

a frayed, worn reminder of chores I once planned.

The texture beneath me, so familiar and real,

memories of childhood, the messes we'd deal.

It soaked up the spills, the laughter, the pain,

each scrub of the surface brought back a refrain.

Of battles with brothers, of chores we’d forsake,

a simple old sponge holds the weight of the ache.