grandma has an opal ring. it would turn pink when she cooked because of the heat. pink when she boiled orange shrimp or potatoes, pink with beef stroganoff steaming. it turned pink when she roasted a chicken.
blue when we held hands on walks in the botanical gardens. blue with binoculars at hand, blue with hummingbirds, squirrels, rabbits taking dust baths, roadrunners and a hawk in the sky.
the ring turned green when she stopped cooking and stopped walking and bought a wig. the green looked nice with the gray white of her wig, though. “my hair used to be black when i was young! i didn’t want to be different so i’d say no, it’s not black! it’s just very dark brown! i wanted to be like everyone else” she’d tell me that.
now, she wants to be different though. she doesn’t want to be tucked in with pale sheets and tubes and buttons, monitors that buzz like all the others in the beige rooms.
her opal ring is green and she doesn’t wear her wig, she has no hair. her opal ring slides off her fingers and i want to tape it on.
but when the sun sets it shines color on her through the window. yellows and oranges, warm pink glows. she is resting her eyes and doesn’t see the colors but i do. (ricardo cases) these photos are from a series titled “El Porque de las naranjas” which means “The Reason of the oranges” or, “The Because of the oranges,” or, “The Why of the oranges.” I’ll let you decide how to translate it.