White
is the taunting blank page
Snickering back at me
as I stare through its empty visage
White is lime and water
bleaching boards
soaking into the hitching post
and the snow that covered everything
last time I stood by its lasting strength
and the dirt
White
is the faded and thin
soundless and cloudless summer sky
full of hopes and reams
shadows and sunburns
kool aid and dandilion fluff
White
tastes
fuzzy and sweet
strawberries and ice
homemade ice cream
salty and thin
cucumbers and lemonade
it cruches and squishes and slides
like dew on timothy
White
is warm and thick
as the milk in the pail
with just a few stray flecks
of hay and dust and shit
White
is the tickle
that itches and creeps
and makes you sneeze
the bite of pollen
the dust and sterility
of the barn before milking
but not after
of the sinus searing January cold
that slides up your nose
and crystalizes your brain
before shivering
down your spine and out your boots
White
is the downy
unbelievably soft underbelly
of a drowzy kitten
the gentle muzzle
of a horse
hunting oats
and the warm rough rump
of a holsein
cud chewing in the afternon sun