head full of hair, like the red on my son’s head,
red like my face, I wonder of the blood that did circulate
around the tumor that formed just behind her eye
the red i saw
like a man going blind, eyes irritated at the sun’s presence
bloodshot like mine, with anger on those drunken nights I cursed a god in heaven
I wonder if my baby saw red like I did
when, my eyes burning, filled with tears at the news of her death.
Those lovely red curls that now make a pillow for her final place of rest..
© 2013 Patrick W. Hamilton
All rights reserved
ive written before about my daughter, and its always therapeutic..
the theme here for next months poetry thing is writting about "colors"
so thats what got me started here i guess.