Every drawer Marla opens makes her grunt.
Every cupboard makes her scream.
Every chair, shove,
every door, elbow.
Can I help? I ask.
Where are the tea bags? she shouts.
I go to the counter,
open a ceramic pot,
blackberries painted on the side,
and hold up what she’s looking for.
Makes no sense.
That’s fruit.
That should have fruit in it.
And she’s right.
The coffee container has gooseberries on the side,
the sugar container, pears.
Makes no sense, she repeats.
I find tall glass tumblers above the sink,
fill three with
tea, coffee, sugar,
and pop them on the countertop.
You’ll know where they are now.
Marla grins
with as little of her mouth as possible.
Smart arse. Boil the kettle then.