01
Kitchen, 3 a.m.
Mara OkonkwoThe fridge hums its one noteand I stand in its lightlike a man being questioned.
Nothing in here is mine.The milk belongs to tomorrow.The cold belongs to the house.
The fridge hums its one noteand I stand in its lightlike a man being questioned.
Nothing in here is mine.The milk belongs to tomorrow.The cold belongs to the house.