Amanda Hall: The Dish-Washer

“Above the foam curled a light plume of steam—
An airy blue embodiment of dream,
That drew the tribute of her eager gaze
As though it were a genie from a vase.

Her hands worked on with even rise and fall,
But she was not aware of them at all.
A breeze came in, a stranger to the town,
And set her tumblers bobbing up and down,
And making tinkly music, frail and sweet,
Like fairy bells you startle with your feet
In woodland grass. Then happily her soul
Awoke to sunlight nesting in a bowl:
A little crystal boat it seemed to be
Upon the life and lustre of the sea.”