White
4 a.m. fog rich on fields tranquil.
Holstein milk slaps the bucket by hand.
White reports parking-lot cars with lights on.
Calls home to mom every Tuesday.
Young love is as white as is baby’s first smile,
And slow napping with kitties’ purr on the pillow.
White says excuse me, thank you, God bless you,
And love you, when leaving.
Two drunks wrapped under one blanket,
One bridge, one empty same night.
Wet, smooth cheeks, mild lemon grass.
White willow’s wonder, spider web dew.
The feel of raw rice slipping through fingers.
White wiffles on the hill.
Cooked spaghetti, no sauce, tastes white.
White holds dreams for you when faith fails,
Splatted with mud and mired muck.
White sandy beaches, a drifty summer day.
January days locked in ice.
Foster parents cooking for once abused girls,
Chicken and rice with low-fat gravy and broccoli.
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