Objects in the Prison Library
By Johanna Featherstone
Published 26 October 2023
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.