Paul Willason Poet Free verse

Washing and Drying Up

Each night after the evening meal
there was never a discussion
as to who would wash the dishes
and who would do the drying up.
My mother was the washer,
my sister and I did the drying up.

Hot steam would rise from the sink 
before plates were plunged
deep in foam and scrubbed
with a brush - we would wait,
tea towel in hand to pounce
on the first plates to come out,
rinsed and white - 
dishes were easier to dry 
than heavy pots
and fiddly knives and forks.

It was a time for talk, for laughs
and sometimes snuffled back tears -
everyday life lived within the space 
of our touching elbows. 
I can still feel the tea towel 
in my hand wet and warm 
with those blessed memories.

Seventy years on, I bend down
and load the racks of a dishwasher
with soiled tableware from
the evening meal.  Its quiet whirr
will fill the winter silence
and play a soulless ditty when 
the washing and drying up
is done.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Lin Lane June 10, 2025 at 5:15 AM Nostalgic moments from our childhood days are pleasant thoughts that bring smiles to our lips and perhaps a bit of a melancholy mood. You've shared yours so realistically by telling of the feel of the tea towel, warm and wet. That's a talent that few have to recreate a scene so clearly. Paul Willason June 10, 2025 at 11:04 PM Always like mining what I can of the past, present and sometimes the future, to discover the meaningful, encourage the muse to whisper in my ear. Fortunately it comes, at times, with a little, special detail that makes it jump. Thankyou my dear friend for your ongoing encouragement...it matters.