The kitchen sink psychodramas

There is a place within her home
A place inside her garden
The only place where she can moan
The only place of pardon.

A woman’s place of doom and grief
A grave yard of desire
Where all her dreams are buried deep
And mourned into a fire.

A woman’s place of disbelief
A grave yard of her longing
Where all her yearning fades away
Instead of decomposing.

And buried there are all her ghosts
Her unsung songs, her stories
Her unborn children, her unloved
The spooks of all her glories.

She stands beside her kitchen sink
Before the dirty dishes
As she would stand beside the grave
Of all her long lost wishes.

She lights a candle in her heart
She spills those lonely tears
She bows to all which fell apart
Over her lonely years.

Her hands are dirty elbow high
From digging mold and clay
To excavate her broken soul
As she begins to pray.

She prays for meaning, prays for peace
She pledges to cease stalling
But most of all she prays for love
She vows to face her calling.