Dishes

Warm soapy water rising up the length of my wrists

Stripped of watches and sleeves

Cleansed like the drifting pile of dishes

Clanking softy underneath the antiseptic tide

My mind wanders far from my body

Out the near window, into the yard

Where frigid piles of snow lay about haphazardly

Melting as if under the heated deluge of a kitchen sink

A brief blast of heat escapes in liquid form

Evaporating as it hits the china

Indoor clouds rise to condense on that window

And hide the cold behind evanescent steam

Opaque now, closed deep inside

My comfortable home, stronghold against the elements

While just feet away the ice stares back, bewildered

At why I tolerate the inferno.