She's Red

as a painted evening
sky. Red as the algae
dyed tide. She was pink
on the day she was born. Pink

frilly dresses and ribbons
she'd worn.  But then her blood
curdled like sour milk that's left
in the refrigerator, sitting for

weeks. Her rivulet eyes
and puffy apple cheeks. Her little
hands clenched like clams
on the beach. Her curls stuck

to her nape wet from her
sweat, ******* her thumb like
a leech. But it wasn't a breast
filled with sweet cream. She didn't

digest between all the
night screams. As she grew
she saw red on her white
cotton sheets!! And she'd go to

the store to buy red for her lips
and her cheeks. Red's what she wore
the day daddy left her there sobbing
at the front door.

If Life was

a backdrop
I'd roll up the cloth to change
the screen, from raining
clouds to a forest of emerald,

green. Or if it was a movie reel,
I'd edit it, slicing the negatives
from black to teal. Leaving out
frost and ice, a palm and

pink sand paradise. Or what if
it was a painting of
a storm, electric bolts and
crashing seas. Men left as dregs

like tea leaves. I'd take it down
from the wall, and hang lavender
fields under mountains high,
on crystal lakes, a tie-dye sky.

my front lawn,
as I'm raking the autumn
leaves.  Eyes follow me
to my backyard from

the street. Eyes sit heavy
in their grey Chevy as I bag
crimson and yellow. Eyes
lit the dark like a spark from

a smoldering cigarette. Eyes
haven't a body, just a silhouette against
the rock. Eyes that stalk leave me
with the creeps. I get rattled by

darting peeps. Eyes on my body,
drink me up like a hot toddy. Black
as tea burning a hole in the ground,
round like a bowl follow me around.

she'll break out of
the bottle. She's been
pushing from within, akin
to a babe in the womb. Except

the womb is now her
room. In vintage blue glass
hours pass like the seasons,
with no rhyme or with no

reasons. Colored red, and
spread out like clouds
painted on the sky. They lie. They're
all genies out there, in navy suits

and striped ties, pleated skirts,
tweed blazers and cotton
shirts. On white walls men blurt. So,
do I. It's how I pass the time.

of night I saw the light through
my neighbor's window. Hunched over
the screen, playing solitaire. His queen
off in another room. And I on my

deck drinking ***** staring into
his womb. He clicks the mouse to
shuffle a card. Our house's so close
like we share the same yard. And we

share the same loneliness too. My king
is off inside. I saw him through
the lamplight. And today the world has
this news of the president elect. It's the red
people choose. And it's so mad that

I'm in the blue, alone in the dark
at five o'clock! Giving myself another
excuse to drink. And I'll ink this in some
literary magazine, and it'll get some
likes from those drag queens.

on my chest as a buttoned
vest. It's a stone I carry
in my purse for better or
worse. I have wings inside

my cage. But they've grown dull
as I have aged. Quiet days blend
into dark fitful nights. The only
shine is my lamp light. My pen,

my only friend. It's there in the morning
with my coffee. And doesn't speak
back to me. Where I place it is
where it stays. It lies on the table

next to the sunflowers and cable. Fits
like a glove in my hand. Everything goes
as planned. All inside the squares,
in a house with empty chairs.

like a quick rain shower on a summer's
day. Like the crimson leaves when
they catch autumn's breeze. Like
a blanket of snow as the afternoon

sun glows. Like the cornflower
sky when the stars blink their sleepy
eye. Like the emerald grass when
the ice sticks like a body cast. Like a

sweet dream into a morning cup
of coffee and cream. Like a memory
in a picture frame, and the light
from a dying flame. She fades away,

a young girl. Her long hair
short and grey. Her porcelain skin
wrinkled, hanging on a double
chin. Soon too, she will fade like the moon.