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