"White" by Liane Graham (Group 1)

The milk in my morning
Elixir, making mild the bitterness
Of my daily routine

The powder on the mirror
That kept me from falling asleep
At that impossibly boring party

The pervasive, piercing blanket on the mountain
Blinding me with my goggles off
And my ski tips up

The color of my skin to strangers
Who are blind to the reflection of colors
That is my heritage

The saccharine in my evening tea
Tricking my tongue
Soothing my sweet tooth and stomach

The worn in sheets of the bed
We share, a place to indulge
In our comforts

The garish lights that beat on my brain
As it empties its contents on the page
For a grade

The piles that stop traffic
And places of business, warranting the wear
Of a blue pair of mittens

The empty page I’m compelled to fill
With blackness, out of sheer
Fear of silence

The face of the clock on which time
Ticks by, without its
Or my permission

The color my hair will someday turn
When it’s had enough of itself
Or of my abuse

The cream Saba whipped into heaven
For his two little girls, crying into a glass dish
Tears to be saved for the next water shortage

The flour I beat into love
Devoured in the forms of cakes and cookies
He calls “the best in the world”.