Nurses in tidy

White shoes saw her

Enter, leaving flashing

Lights, rolling to

Surgery.

Blood Red.

 

Then she lay

Dormant under

White sheets and their

Gaze on her Red hair.

Pupils are not White.

 

Different nurses with

White clipboards.

How are you? under bright

Lights, she rolls.

Slow excercises.

Red Thoughts.

 

Now a doctor, without a

White coat, but

Blank White pages. Chairs

By a table with lamp-

Light. He sits a

Red pen ready, poised.

 

Why, she asks,

Red, long, wild curls.

 

Recovery, he answers,

White, gray, combed.

 

Oh, she says, can

Tears be

Red, like

Pain?