We fear the color of our ruins has changed from green to yellow, in the eyes of woman and later to pearl-white in their plastic opacity.
Our memory recall keeps changing the color. We love our ruins in tact from the same time in the same place , our own, woman our own ,the woman we owned in man egos, in money and servants overhang, with the wash of linen now to be done by the whir of a white machine.
Our servants are ruins, woman’s eyes ruins. Woman is ruins of kids away in far off islands,their shadows floating in drawing room tubes. Grand children are shadows of changing color, from green of our eyes to white of far off lands.
Colors change according to time of viewing.