Poetry
THE COLOR RED
An ear for you this early morning; a shoulder.
Who can claim to understand?
The colour red tonight:
An angel as a devil.
A splintered façade; a cracked mantle; a torn shroud.
The colour red, for your outward rage,
but beneath the veneer: blue.
Another frozen tear, a second smudged canvas,
a foolish stroke to ruin a masterpiece.
A trembling lip, quivering shoulders:
A shudder and the tear unfreezes.
Who can claim to understand?
Advice is moot when it comes from
misconceptions or false sympathy.
Words like an Easter egg:
Sugar on the outside, and on the inside: ether.
A creased brow, an upturned smile.
Red on your eyelids; glitter like stars:
A costume on this night to make heads turn
and hearts pound
but it’s a guise: the mask cracks and falls away,
and all that’s left is you:
the colour red.
Fingers tight over mine:
The candle of strength, guttering,
but not yet put out.
The table between us a wall;
a blocked throat.
Who can claim to understand?
A devil across from me: an angel.
A swift farewell, a brisk “good luck”
and a closed door.
A mind’s reflection:
The colour red.