It's Never About the Dishes

it’s never just about the dishes

and it’s not about the tone.

it’s never about one person

or usually even two.

it’s never about the misunderstanding

it’s never about being right or wrong.

it’s never about an apology

it’s not about compromise

it’s not about a truce.

because when the dishes

are finally washed -

you won’t feel better.

when fault is admitted -

that sense of relief is promised

to be short lived.

trying to quiet your rage

will not soften sharp tongues

or bring the kind of space

needed for truth telling.

the knowing that’s being

asked for lies in the

the pit of your stomach.

this knowing is found in the fear of being forgotten or abandoned.

this knowing exists when you are alone and without a story

to tell about yourself.

it’s found right here,

not because it’s only you

and you alone.

but because it’s you and

the life of your grandmother.

it’s about the fruit of her fall harvest

when she was only 12 and growing.

it’s in the response your mother had when she learned of your existence

it’s in the position of the sun

and it’s rays when your eyes first met them.

it’s in the political landscape

power hungry cliffs

individualism seeping into canyons

and precious water sources.

it’s in the memory of your great grandfather

when his nervous system knew

this shell shock would shape

whole generations.

it’s when he came home and

ceased to show his emotions

in the crease lines of his eyes.

this is what we known as generational risk factors and

wounded neural pathways.

it’s in the genetic coding

ancient blueprints of men

it’s in the divorce between

human and earth

and mind and body.

it’s in every thought, belief and

movement of those who

took a breath both

before and with you.

all this to share:

what you’re feeling is not

just about the two of you

and I promise it’s not

about the dirty dishes.