Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2018
Why is the color of death black?
The color of night
of inside a cave
of your mother’s womb
of behind your eyelids.
The color of no color.
For some, it’s white–
of crumbling columns of ash
of salted soil where nothing grows
of days when the sun shines
too bright to see
when you look out your window and
can’t see your mailbox
when you leave home and
drive through clouds of snow
blowing across the highway
of snow dusting the air from
the backs of semis
of ice buried under snow
and you see the fields and trees,
the world shrouded in white
and wonder if
you’ll be buried here too.
Laura Slaathaug
Written by
Laura Slaathaug  North Dakota
(North Dakota)   
206
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems