It was the color of the sheet covering his body,
And the pigment of my bloodless face

“He shot himself.”
The sentence laced through my body like static.

Soft palmed cops offered obligatory condolences
While contemplating tonight’s dinner options

White
It was the church walls as your mother cried in silence,
And the film of dust now covering the kitchen counters
But it wasn’t the color of the walls, was it?