Doing Dishes

I no longer wash the dishes.
A machine does that
and is thoughtful enough
to dry them.

Once dry, I must put them back:
plates to shelves, pots to hooks,
spoons to drawers,
sharp knives in a slotted block:
a carefully positioned order,
each in its place.

It's a source of grace,
knowing where everything is
when I need or want it.
No need to ask.
I simply raise or reach my hand.

My dishes teach me a lesson:
keep close at hand
and always where you can find
what it is you need:

good memories in the front of your mind;
and those you love
within touch of wherever you stand.