thwack
it hits me in the face on a tuesday evening as the car lights are low
in the busy rush hour
the bus jostling as I smell fresh paint and plaster waft between the aisle
your chalk stained clothes as you pick me and my brother up from school in the builders van, us arguing between who gets to sit in the middle
trying not to get sawdust and debris on the freshly packaged fish and chips we will scarf down when we arrive back into their home
watching green jelly set with our cousins on new year’s eve not meaning to remember it
my grandmother watching the smallest television in the corner of the kitchen whilst she cooked, mind already half gone
trying to find a certain curry powder in the supermarket because it reminds me of her
her words as she became somebody else
trying to get through reading ‘do not stand at my grave and weep’
your face when anybody mentions her now she’s not here
your new life
my mother and her sister trying their hardest
greek holidays with your new family
the child you replaced us all with
i wonder if you’ll ever ask her if she likes the smell of plaster
