High Gloss
by Mae Grey
· 29/12/2025
Published 29/12/2025 14:19
The bed is made for nobody.
The guest room smells like dust
and the sudden lack of a plan.
At the back of the shelf, the box.
Black, hard, shining like a beetle.
I pick it up and the smoke
of thirty years ago hits the throat.
There’s a crack in the side.
A thin, white split where the pine
peeks through the heavy paint.
She wasn't rich.
She just liked things that looked
unbreakable.