Silent No More: The Dishwasher's Lament

The china bears the evidence—

hairline fractures where her grip

tightened but didn’t shatter,

water spots like faded tear stains

on wedding gift crystal

that outlasted the vows.

*His coffee mug, still lipsticked*

*from the secretary’s visit,*

*swirls in suds thick as excuses.*

She scrubs until her knuckles bleed,

but the porcelain won’t confess.

*The toddler’s bowl, crusted*

*with uneaten carrots*

*and society’s expectations.*

The water runs cold—

just like pediatrician’s voice

when he said *"Working mothers*

*should try harder."*

Her grandmother’s gravy boat,

chipped from decades

of serving his father first.

The steam rises like ghosts

of hungry women

who never got seconds.

At midnight, the appliance hums

*"I can take more"* in mechanical morse code.

She loads one final item—

her wedding ring,

letting the jetsam of diamonds

score the stainless steel interior

like a prison tattoo.

*"This machine survives*

*on quiet revolutions.*

*Handle with rage."*