Good Warmth by Munira Tabassum Ahmed

Amilah returns, swollen-bellied and holy, to the room where she was born. Her mother’s house wails at the edges, calling memory back to her hands – she sits and rests in this archival body. When she was born, bloodied and honey-buttered, the wallpaper was a different colour; she could’ve sworn it was floral. Tonight, it is worn and red, a little younger than her and a little brighter.