Quiet Rituals

Each evening, I dive into suds and steam,

hands in warm water, lost in a dream.

Soapsuds swirl, hiding whispers, and more—

rituals performed behind a closed door.

The dishes glisten, their surfaces reveal,

the life we’ve led, every crack and appeal.

In silence, I wash away grit and the grime,

removing the remnants of each careless time.

Invisible moments, soft and unheard,

wrapped in the hum of a delicate word.

I scrub and I rinse, a soothing embrace,

while the world outside moves at a frantic pace.