LET THERE BE A LITTLE LIGHT
“This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.”
—Sylvia Plath, “The Moon and the Yew Tree”
White Light
Who decides what’s wrong and what’s right?
So many people suffered to perfect this drug.
Before the irises bloomed,
there were lilies. A warm frost covers
everything snug. Moss and stones—all
their insides grown green. I watch a nurse
refill her gaping white jug. There’s a field of snow
and a field of sun. Do you want the frost
or the hug? Take the white light in,
and you can let everything go.
Pink Light
When you see pink, do you think Barbie or
Cancer? We’ve been trained to rewire our thoughts.
I use pink light when I want to look pretty,
pink noise when I tune everything out.
The spine of this book is so broken. I’ve read
the pages ten times too much. I refuse to use
the word many. In poetry, none of the rules
really count. Break the strongest and the weakest
start fighting. See? The carnations drank
the roses to drought.
