An Ode to Spring Mornings on which the Sun is Shining and All the Dishes in the Dishwasher are Clean.

Today I drew open the door;
The White Gate
To a world of peril
Or joy.

I was afraid.

Afraid.

Unsure of what would stare at me:
The cold grime of past meals
Encrusted upon tumblers and plates alike,
Or the porcelin pearl
Of a mug well cleansed.

And so with ginger fingers did I
Creak open the Gate and peer inside.

And Lo!
Never in all of time
Paradise
Did I expect to see!
The purest curves of cups and bowls
Glowing demurely back at me.

O, ne'er have you, tumblers, with your
Circus colors and
Wild waves,
Glistened in the golden light
As such the sun provides today.

And you, dear mugs, of sweetest curves
Sing choruses of light divine;
Heralding the morning with
Your gently curving, quiet lines.

I reach into the rainbow,
Reveling
In the crystals of light on each dish.
Nowhere can I find the
Agony of dirt and grime.

You, O mug, I choose for tea.
And never has Earl Grey had a more worthy throne.

But
A cloud passes over
And in the cold second that follows,
I realize the
Blemish
On this 'flawless' vessel.