That morning, we were taking out the plates

We'd scrubbed and put away last night,

Each had one, half-full,

Half-empty. We weren't really hungry

And it was more a thing to pass the time.

The cake of soap was withering,

Neglected, for we had no dirty linen

And the sink, by then, was baked crusty

In time. So we washed the potatoes

And dried yesterday's apples,

On the towels that always hung, still white.

But all the while we were waiting, with

Patient quiet, for the mangoes.