how she

ismy eyes

drift from bandaged wrists

to the wallwhere a shiny stain

hovers like a halo from the Renaissance painting

she copied orthe sunflower cast in bronze for her Fibonacci-themed degree show

she's toldto see herself filled with orange lightto battle the urgent slicing darknessit doesn't work
her next attempt succeedsmy mother

once spilt orange on my contacts caseI couldn't get it clean
about thewallshe sayssomeone threw a
cup of tea and noone cleaned it teaor a