“Orange”

Orange is the color of bigotry, An object hurled

at a friend who does not see the world only in
terms of black or white.

There are orange push-ups and orange sunsets.

Sunshine feels orange, cheerful and bright.
Tiger lilies are the orange of my childhood, of
innocence, but an orange projectile flaming with
hate is the color of adulthood.

Oranges should be juicy and ripe, not crusted

over with the sugar white crust of salty hatred
that stings the wounds
of a dream still deferred.

Orange feels like anger, shame, and sorrow

Orange is the neighbor across the street or
someone you don’t even know.

Orange should feel like summer and hope, but it

smells like winter, a dark, sulphurous shadow
Choking out all signs of intelligent life.

“White”

White is the color of purity, the mistakes of past

forgiven, and the slate cleaned and given anew.

There are white walls and white canvas. The

white canvas feels ready to be filled with the
black ink of ideas. White is a wall that begs to be
painted with whatever path that you wish to
choose.

White should be clean and pure, only to be

stained and tainted with the world around it.

White feels like the dead of Winter, cold and still,

only waiting for Spring to give it life again. White
is the color that helps to clean a slab, that is
marked with the pain of mistake.

White should feel like purity and cleanliness, but

white looks like black with the smallest of errors.
That is not what I see on a spotted canvas. I see
a white canvas ready to be cleaned, of its
spotted mistakes. ​3