10 ways to see White
- I wore cream to my wedding. I never married before. Cream was left, somehow still accurate.
- The hall was so white I couldn’t see the iris. Snowy observer of my body thrown across the hall and through the rickety closet doors like a jacket in July.
- All records are clean before the incoming rain of experience.
- Curious cloud looking like a light at my legs bared on the beach.
- The tissue paper around the gift no one wrapped.
- The daisy I hunted for 23 years.
- Snow at the ski resort broken and used. I’ve got my skis.
- And the unreal white bones in my legs holding their breath before the trees.
- The moon over my body as I wait for the Reaper.
- My breath in the cold. Stopped like a song.