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Traditional Sins


The nostalgia sets in by a click, like the rinse cycle once- twice round Leaving the sink, the dishes, the ‘stainless’ steel dewy. An incandescent - wet noise circling round its prey- the tea cups and stately silver still stained with DNA of ex lovers and dead aunts crying out to be touched, buffed, polished back into existence but you can’t handle them that way they belong shoved, thrown, disheveled in your 4 compartment drawer only to be used upon request and never to be washed by machines they must be cleansed by long piano key fingers that gingerly recall the value of their biannual existence. Of their thanksgiving Lineage parade Where family secrets disguise themselves Under heritage tree’s and their offerings- Cranberry sauce. Of their honest roots- lefsē Bland sweetness.

And of course, their tumultuous fostering From one wrinkled clench to the next Generation gaining malice like velocity The fingerprint smudges You’ll never polish off In time before the water drains And the rinse cycle transfers into steam That burns your thumbprints off As your curse your fascination with the damned New age dishwasher Pay no mind to traditions.

Let go of your own DNA as you would

That precious silver

Toss it into modernity and let the machines do the dirty work. Let go of your own DNA as you would That precious silver Toss it into modernity and let the machines do the dirty work.

About the author: Alyssa Moore is a PNW native who loves to explore the beauty the PNW has to offer with her sidekick Gatsby, an Australian Shepherd. She is an avid connoisseur of literature wine and poetry, a "practicer" of yoga, and is in the constant pursuit of knowledge and experience in holistic lifestyles and healthy living.

 

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