6.15
he’s washing the dishes. a
man shouldn’t do that. it’s
embarrassing. the other kid’s
dad’s don’t. it’s women’s work.
I hide my head.
I stand at the sink now years
later and see my mother’s hands
raw, cracked, hurting. he did
it for her, out of love, long before
we learned to lib.
I am embarrassed now, that I
didn’t see the strong heart in
those brute shoulders, bent
forward with the scrub brush
in his hands.
——————–
[for my dad, whom I probably didn't appreciate enough]
