It stares at the ceiling
in a house that I share
with my husband
as it stared at the ceiling in school
with its silver-grey armor
and its soapy puddles.
I sop up its surface with a sponge like
a baby's dirty face in
answer to my high school
dubiety as my heart and my
mind and everything else inside
me screams out to my past
and the girl I was that
"Yes, you do have a stainless
steel sink just like the
one in your 1960's cooking class!" and
the water beads up and lessens
with every swipe as I realize
not everything changes
even when everything else does.
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