In Plain White

I stare at the portrait that is Framed in inexpensive wood coated in Two thick layers of white paint That blends in with the white background. The portrait is of a young woman clad In a pale yellow dress, and whose Tenderly smiling face is strikingly Familiar, yet her name I cannot say, but The letters “T.S.C.” are printed in flowing Script on the right arm of her dress; I cannot remember if the initials Are hers or of the artist who was Commissioned to paint her. I continue to look; the colors Swirl, and in my mind’s eye she Now holds a loveless smile, and mother Hens and chicks cluster round Her legs, and the loving care The hens show seem to be Reflected on her, standing out Against the gray background, while The picture changes again and she Has lost her smile; instead adorning A smirk on her vicious features, holding Long locks of hair clearly not her own in Her hands, with a look of triumph in her Dark black eyes, as the background Slowly fades to black.