I
ask
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
glassoforangejuice