My Grandmother’s Kitchen

The numb stone floor thuds against my shoe

As my fingers graze the stained wood-mix worktops.

I can see Mum searching for plastic bags

In the shed that I used to play in.

Triumphant, she comes in clutching

An array of cobalt, green and white.

“We will be leaving soon,” she says,

“We just need to pack the rest.”

I nod, aware that my soul had

Already left the house

The moment Nana

Left the world

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