Theft of Color by Margaret Rhee
‘When I ask, the histologist responds, / Cells have no color. / We use ink to color the slides.’
Renee Prisble. Migrating Thunder Cell & Ghost Thunder Cell, 2010. Courtesy the artist/Flickr.
Poetry | Poetry Tuesday, Theft of Color, poc
September 8, 2015
September 8, 2015
When I ask, the histologist responds,
Cells have no color.
We use ink to color the slides.
In my understanding,
my ultrasound was all light,
some grey. My child grew to be
made of dinosaur sounds,
toothy kindness, and no particular color.
I consider it theft, when I have to
teach my child
how to answer, what are you?
and, where are you from?
Theft, when he learns
the futility of two hands
raised in surrender.
Ink bleeds through
our ability to see, our
sanction to breathe.
