How the dishes get done, by Marianne Szabo

 

 A pile of stones

moved from one side of the field

to the other

and then back again;

as Sisyphus moves

his rock;

as a philosopher

picks up the particular

one

by one

in the fields

of the pedestrian,

with no time

for the Eleusinian;

to think,

yet not to think,

to find the

universal

in a gleaming

dish

as consolation:

this is the testing

in fire

of the

dishwater saints. 

 

 

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