I stand at the old cast iron sink
set in the corner of the kitchen
washing the few dishes
left on the counter from last night’s supper
and the two wine glasses
from that time of the evening
when the day passes from work towards rest.
It is neither usual nor uncommon
that I am washing a few dishes
in the hour before dawning,
nor is it any great thing,
a simple routine of cleaning
what someone else used
in preparing me food:
skillets and plates and such shapes
as make the making and the eating easier.
Then, too, there are the two loaf pans
soaking from earlier that afternoon,
coated with Crisco and crumbs
from the warm leavings of strawberry bread.
While Randa is still sleeping,
I dip my hands in this quiet chore of early morning,
nothing more than the simple washing
of a few dishes and the making of fresh coffee.
There a few things more pleasing
than those things that show others
that they are loved
and that remind us
that we love.
Perhaps this, too,
is why our Provider delights
in giving us our daily bread.