The soap suds are purifying
An immaculate act
My brusque manicured hands
sensually stroke
the tainted surface of each dish
It’s feminine, yet
anti-feminist
The pink nail-polish softly
displays its hue through the
soap bubbles like bursts of bubble gum
Through the glass lid, I see
the reflection of my curls
draping over my shoulders –
shoulders that are a pair of maracas
kissed by the sun
The curls tickle me, like the
playful tip of a fuchsia feather.
Water flows
Like translucent silk
delicately grazing my skin
It’s weightlessness is liberating
A stream of new beginnings
I glance over my shoulder
And notice David’s playful grin
as he watches the gentle wiggle of my hips
Peering through the window, I
secretly hope for more dirty dishes
Alma de Colibrí 