- On Being Told:White Is a Color Without Hue
The contrast between a cloud's white and the white of my teeth before sinking into meat is a matter of palettes. A matter of mercy. Beyond the upslope a mountain forms through the fog. The cap is white. And the warm milk on my bedside. Dove white. Maggot white. And the bones on my plate. The blurry edges of stars. Trailing off white. No winter is forever white. And the ones that are. It's a matter of mercy, really. Wedding white. Ghost wrapped in sheet white. As contrasted against the white of a sheet merely ghosted on a clothesline by the wind. Against the whiteness of a sheet pulled back from a face that must be identified. And the face beneath. [End Page 104]
John Sibley Williams is the author of nine poetry collections and the winner of the Philip Booth Award, American Literary Review Poetry Contest, Nancy D. Hargrove Editors' Prize, Confrontation Poetry Prize, and Vallum Award for Poetry. John serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review and lives in Portland, Oregon.