Her Boots
Her boots and her laces tethered, and her shawl, sloppy around weary shoulders. In the distance, a frozen lake, her absolution. Arctic crystals float by like twinkling droplets, cold on her eyelids settling. She thinks of the Sistine chapel and her sins, her history documented in a small scrapbook. She folds the shawl, removes the
University Braille
Technical diagrams raised a millimetre high. White glossy paper, shining in the glow of an underground train. Her eyes burn and squint erratically, her soft hands gliding smoothly across pages, caressing hydrocarbons and other compounds in a textbook. Butane, methane, propane. Ethanol and methanol, fine black detail on white paper shining. Written by Jack Brewis