White

Sometimes the foam regurgitated by the crashing waves.

And others, the soft tear stained pages of a beloved novel.

I am the chipped coffee mug, the kneeling woman’s veil, the polaroid film.

The solid lines on the edge of the road, 

Or the untouched peaks of the Great Smoky Mountains in January.

I am the charging cable supplying life.

Yet also the tangled headphones that I haven’t touched since 

that song made me cry.

When I’m regretful I am the used tissue at my brother’s wedding.

Also the paper I tore from my own journal.

Even the wiry strand of hair I grew during finals week.

I try to be the bones that keep the body intact.

Or the frosting which perfects the cake.

I can be the sweet cream cold foam that melts into chilled coffee.

The sugar I pour into my cake batter,

the pinch of salt too.

Yet it’s difficult to admit that I’m the whisker of a cat, 

a spider’s web, 

and the antique milk glass

always on display.

Red, orange, yellow, green

White light is made up of all the colors

though blank it may appear.