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.