The Old House

I am taken back to this once hot room, how hot it had been, where tea was brought in for me, by my brother, and as I recollect was dropped somehow, in some way, onto my back and the carpet. The yellow wallpaper, flinched at my yearning and keen touch, and made me, I recall, knock you to the ground for your carelessness, I can laugh now about it as the marks of proof have faded but the thought of this room, us together, how ugly it has become and how I wish I could be there.

Mollie Davidson