Mending a Bruised Afternoon

When noon goes dull as pewter skies

And every task feels wrong,

Go fill the sink with lukewarm light

And hum a half-known song.

Roll up your sleeves; let water speak

In vowels soft and slow,

It does not ask you to be strong—

Just present as you go.

Find one chipped cup you meant to toss,

Hold it as you would

A story someone almost lost

But hoped you understood.

Rinse yesterday from porcelain,

Watch circles chase the drain;

The rhythm will unhook the knot

You couldn’t name as pain.

Then dry your hands on cotton cloth

That smells of sun and soap—

A mended hour, plain as that,

Will hand you back your hope.