Wallpaper

My daughter’s moved house.

That’s ok.  Of course it is.  What business is it of mine anyway?

It’s just that I’ll never again enter the room where I saw that little old lady sitting in the corner.  It was the first time I ever saw her. 

The day she walked in to find my dad dead. 

I arrived hours later to see her on the end of the sofa.  Cup of tea.  Tiny and alone for the first time.

Now my daughter’s moved.

It’s only a room, after all.

Just a rented house.

How many babies and laid-out corpses have been washed down in rooms that no longer exist?

What does it matter?