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SHAPE SHIFTER For Jo Bell As a child, you did not understand how I could also be a solid. That in winter, you could hold in your hand an ice cold shard. You tried to remember me in summer, how I had flowed then like a river, sunlight glancing off the surface as you swam
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It came more or less unnoticed. Simply slipped inside and curled up while no-one was looking. Then, when the moment was right, made its presence felt and let it be known that it was here. Here for good. Here for as long as it took.
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They were wandering through the park when she started to imagine how they may appear to someone who was passing by. Two people walking, their faces anonymous revealing nothing, avoiding eye contact.
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The ten forty-five does not stop along the way. Pushing down the line, ignoring towns where nothing ever happens, it keeps on moving. A suck of air the only movement these places ever feel as with a rattle and crack we charge through empty stations and lonely platforms, pulling away from their vacuum and void…
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The smell of the market hangs in the air. It hitched a ride two stops back. Fresh fish and the smell of dusty streets on a warm summers day underground.
