• Victoria Fiorelli

All I See Is Black and White

Sun rays beaming,

sweat beads rolling

down my face. Birds chirping.

The red roses brighter

with no thorns visible

to the eye. The sky,

a deep blue with no clouds

obscuring the view of the plane

flying overhead. She’s indoors,

face, filled with flour

as the leftover morsels

of pancake batter sizzle

on the hot griddle just as

the horrific disease burns

inside of her. Time ticks

as her light becomes dim

but the world would never

know. Until we do. The

light flickers for two years,

longer than expected.

But it goes dark.

So again, sweat beads roll

down my face but this time

with a salty taste and are pouring

out from my eyes. There are no sun rays

or red roses. But thorns and thorns and thorns.

No blue sky or green grass.


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