Doing dishes is God’s work
It begins by washing away the thin residue of sins
That accumulates from neglecting our souls
The tougher ones are a spiritual challenge
Caked on by years of bad habits–
They must be vigorously scrubbed
Sometimes even scrapped with a knife
Until their surfaces can shine again
Despite the inevitable scratches
Some dishes require boiling
As pressure and steam work
To undo the scorched messes we make
When our anger is our armor
But scrub and clean we must–
There are no other options,
Save for leaving ourselves filthy,
Drowning in our sorrow and regrets,
A saucer full of dirty secrets
