She’d open up lives on canvas :
the infant’s inked footprints in black
and the marbled tombstone in white,
the mushroom cloud of the nuclear bomb
all painted in black and white
while they conveyed ideas
dominated by shades of grey.
The picture of her chest snapped by the machine
baking her tissues with a beam of rays
was in black and white, too.
When my white-sleeved hand
held it up against the glowing screen,
I saw cannonballs* piercing her lungs.
The back of my mind wished
it was just another picture
painted by her.
Truth is not always what we wish for.
*Multiple pulmonary nodules on chest x-ray are known commonly as cannon ball secondaries. Cannon balls indicate poor prognosis.
Blossoming Soul 