Whiteness
Whiteness
I close my eyes and see
The milk rising in the weigh jars
Every morning and evening
Of my bucolic childhood
And for years before I was born
Like bone melted down
Or porcelain poured from a cauldron
How they made something
So white out of the dark
Green clover they grazed on
Even as we slept
Was the holy mystery
We drew our living from
Like hawkers of icons at shrines
Milk bought the bed I slept in
The sheets I lay under
The clothes I wore
The books I read
The food I ate
The glasses that let me see
Everything around me
Had once been milk
Grass to milk to money
Green to white to green
That was the chain of being
White ourselves
We lived off of whiteness
Though I never drank it
Even now
I don’t like how it tastes