a man stepping on a cockroach finds that, instead of a wet red, what scatters is white.
cinematic renditions of atomic bombs show an assault of puffed smoke, white.
of the weather, what can be certain are rains so torrid that visibility becomes white.
my brother glimpses at his reflection and answers in english: white.
the color of everything is light. when i think without color, i think white.
in the process of revision, whole clauses of this work were wiped out in white.
why purity is cited in the bible as amalgamated into a gentle cloth in white.
where clouds descend mid-mountain is a severance caused by white.
yet in the peak of this sore under my brown skin, the pus is throbbing white.
all who die in the cold cannot escape, their final breath is white.
where my fingernails begin and extend are inescapably white.
Aimee Cando is a Filipino writer who grew up on the Internet. Her work has appeared in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal and Hypertrophic Literary. She is currently living in Cubao and working on her Masters degree in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines Diliman.