
My kids won’t load the dishwasher
It’s driving me insane
And so I smash the plates instead
And walk out in the rain
The air is sweet and heady
If I could survive out here I would
A feral, lonely woman
Doing what she should
I’d build a camp from things I find
And make a little fire
And I’d sit there for a long, long time
Until the world expires
My bones will sink much deeper
Than the mulch and wood and peat
I’ll funnel down into the depth
And try and plant a seed
And after a long silence
When the awful time has passed
I’ll emerge victorious
Like a crocus, a blade of grass
The darkness will still shroud me
The fear of what has been
But when I walk back into the house
The dishes will be clean.
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