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Objects in the Prison Library

A jug that boils the water that warms the milk that

makes the Milo that forms the taste that starts

as a sip that removes cold and offers hot that gives

us life that is everywhere on the streets, pictures,

scenes or places in mind that move as the bus

carries the people who hold shopping that bulges

with apples their small brown leaves crisper than

most that litter the path to my front door that I

unlocked last week when the workshop was over

but not really over, more under or around the

corners of my head that keeps spinning green:

the forest green of an inmate’s sloppy joe

the buttery green of a split avocado

that’s in the lunch box that waits in the fridge

beside the cheese I’m not going to eat because

I want Milo from a jug that boils the water that

warms the milk that doesn’t say much about

sonnets or sentences but a lot about white,

how that colour is really a tone that can’t be

drunk unless you’re at home not seeing green.

sonnets or sentences but a lot about white,

how that colour is really a tone that can’t be

drunk unless you’re at home not seeing green.

 

Go to Johanna Featherstone's profile to read more poems