The art of divination need not be limited to tea leaves. Was I scraping the bottom of the barrel or merely scraping dishes when I wrote this odd ditty three years ago?
Washing Up
The churning water brings them up.
The grounds of coffee in the cup
rise like saints to water’s top
while water runs, they do not stop.
I read their shapes like tea leaves now.
I see the future but know not how.
They swirl and change, revealing lives––
swarm like hornets from their hives.
The one I wait for comes unstuck,
careening towards his future luck.
The one that’s me caught in an eddy,
stuck for now, but holding steady.
Other remnants of finished meals––
carrot shards, potato peels––
rise up and circle, forming dreams.
Reality, or so it seems.
I see a heart and charm and lies,
a future lover in disguise,
a plane, a knoll, a tree-lined path,
a woman bound in senseless wrath.
She sends out waves that push you here––
the very thing that she most fears.
I know not who or where you are.
Are you near or are you far?
As all goes rushing down the drain,
I feel a sense of loss and pain.
And so I fill the sink again.
Will I see you one time more,
or was my vision only lore?
The prompt today was churn.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Loved it, Judy. I’ll never look at my washing up the same way.
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Ha.. We must find our wisdom where we can.
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Love the post! I have the same sponge. I always feel horrible when I use it so much his happy smile turns all twisted. Makes me feel torturous.
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Search Scrub Daddy on my blog for a series of interesting blogs on this little guy.. Amazing story…
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Thanks! Will do
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I love it!! Made me laugh, and that is always a gift.
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A gift both ways..
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Fun and philosophies in ordinary things! Thanks for sharing.
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Thanks for reading and following,
Beth.
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