5_trope | Geometries

Geometries

Jacqueline Doyle

It seems too linear, he said.
You’re pretty predictable, she said

When the moon was full, Sara took a razor blade and sliced out her heart, burying it under the lemon tree, still beating. She was surprised, but it turned out to be easy to live without a heart. No one else seemed to notice. Every day she watered the heart carefully. The plant that slowly grew, unfurling its leaves, reaching tentative tendrils toward the sun, was of a green so dark it was almost black.

It’s kind of circular, don’t you think?
You mean the moon? she asked.

Briony’s lover was losing interest when the stalwart young lieutenant appeared, his white horse prancing. He dismounted, he bowed and smiled, she smiled, his white teeth gleamed, her dark eyes sparkled. The renewed attentions of Briony’s lover were like a thorn in her heart. She took a razor blade and sliced it out, placing it carefully on a blue glass plate.

Triangles have been done, he said.
Right, she said.

Janice walked the perimeter of her empty room, starting counterclockwise from the door—moving from the right corner to the far right corner, from the far right corner to the far left corner, back to the left of the door, past the door to the right again, peeling off jagged strips of wallpaper as she went. It was ugly, black with vertical green vines. The wallpaper underneath it was red flocked velvet. She didn’t know yet whether there was another layer of wallpaper under that one.

So was it a rectangle or a square? Kind of confusing with all those corners, don’t you think?
Square, she said.

They were sitting on the beach, bundled up against the cold and wind. Rhianna traced shapes in the sand with a stick while he talked, and talked. It was better this way, he said, and she nodded. They both needed some space, he said. She unzipped his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and laid her head against his bared chest for a moment. Then she took out a razor blade and cut out his heart, She buried it in the sand. She watched the waves for a while, until the icy water erased the shapes in the sand. Tiny bits of shells littered the foam-flecked beach, glittering as the sun set.

Does this have any shape, he asked?
Fuck yeah, she answered.

5_trope An Online Journal of Experimental Poetry and Prose
Archives Contributors Current Issue Editor’s Note Masthead	Geometries Jacqueline Doyle It seems too linear, he said. You’re pretty predictable, she said When the moon was full, Sara took a razor blade and sliced out her heart, burying it under the lemon tree, still beating. She was surprised, but it turned out to be easy to live without a heart. No one else seemed to notice. Every day she watered the heart carefully. The plant that slowly grew, unfurling its leaves, reaching tentative tendrils toward the sun, was of a green so dark it was almost black. It’s kind of circular, don’t you think? You mean the moon? she asked. Briony’s lover was losing interest when the stalwart young lieutenant appeared, his white horse prancing. He dismounted, he bowed and smiled, she smiled, his white teeth gleamed, her dark eyes sparkled. The renewed attentions of Briony’s lover were like a thorn in her heart. She took a razor blade and sliced it out, placing it carefully on a blue glass plate. Triangles have been done, he said. Right, she said. Janice walked the perimeter of her empty room, starting counterclockwise from the door—moving from the right corner to the far right corner, from the far right corner to the far left corner, back to the left of the door, past the door to the right again, peeling off jagged strips of wallpaper as she went. It was ugly, black with vertical green vines. The wallpaper underneath it was red flocked velvet. She didn’t know yet whether there was another layer of wallpaper under that one. So was it a rectangle or a square? Kind of confusing with all those corners, don’t you think? Square, she said. They were sitting on the beach, bundled up against the cold and wind. Rhianna traced shapes in the sand with a stick while he talked, and talked. It was better this way, he said, and she nodded. They both needed some space, he said. She unzipped his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and laid her head against his bared chest for a moment. Then she took out a razor blade and cut out his heart, She buried it in the sand. She watched the waves for a while, until the icy water erased the shapes in the sand. Tiny bits of shells littered the foam-flecked beach, glittering as the sun set. Does this have any shape, he asked? Fuck yeah, she answered.