This color collision—red
splayed onto green—isn’t
on purpose. She would not presume
to celebrate what cannot be

celebrated by someone
whose beliefs lie
inside another palette,
reveal themselves without complementary

aids. It happens—pigments
go where they must, or
where they might. It is that
she chooses this pariah

life—this bundle of exploded light
debris—which spells out memories
left unretrieved. It is this

to be true.