It's Still Life

No More Salt

the windows are steamed.

the kitchen smells
of roast turkey
and Brussels sprouts.

mum is wearing
one of my aunt’s aprons.

“I’ll bring my own
next time.”

mum frowns
at unnamed stains,

at stiff ruffles
too close to her chin.

she stirs the gravy,
wipes her hands.

adds another stain.

and adds more salt

when nobody
is looking.

Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge for April 2026. Prompt word: No (blank-blank)

Not all images are created using Midjourney, but all writing is my own original work. ©Misky 2006-2026.