by Sara Grant

I trace the wood chip wallpaper,
Its blister-like bumps
And smothered
By cheap magnolia paint.

The kitchen door
Aches on its hinges.
I take its handle
And it opens up,
Motioning to last night’s remains.

I breathe in
That burnt supper smell.
Cremated beef chilli
And an alcoholic aroma
All over
The chequered green tea towel.

I step in shattered glass
On the lemon-coloured linoleum.
It winces
As I wipe away the shards
Of a former fruit bowl.

I drown her
Groggy wine glass
In a sink of scolding hot water,
Submerging it
Until the spluttering stops.

Sara Grant | Instagram: @Lustforwords

Sara Grant is a content writer by day and a flash fiction writer by night.

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