The Window

Standing there, washing dishes,

I look out and see all sorts of play.

Under the warm, sudsy water

I feel for the smoothness of the china.

And watch forts being built, adventures unfolding.

I wash vegetables and smell their earthiness,

and hear peals of laughter.

I watch, spellbound,

legs racing around the backyard;

the unveiled creativity of games without rules,

or rules being made as the games progress.

The water streams down, the pot filling.

Sister rests on the black of the trampoline

in the heat of the sun.