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Sport 39: 2011

Earthquake

Earthquake

This morning we were in the middle of putting the fire out with a feather duster, when all of a sudden my late grandmother finds her way in and decides to start breaking the wedding plates.

Strange, I remember saying, having never met. Let alone her wedding plates. But every second wife inherits someone’s plates on her wedding day. This side of the equator and that.

He sweeps the leftover china with the duster and then stamps on the plastic bottles to make them submit to recycling. All the bottles are full and spilled milk is now drowning our dog who is desperately looking for her wicker bed ship. Charlie, I say, give us a bark. But when she dreams she dreams of some other mother not me.

It’s all over in a matter of minutes not hours not days. What’s broken’s broken. We walk with care not to disturb my grandmother who, too, has just gone to sleep.