I always was the color red
What do you think
Shall I say my hair was red
Or strawberry blonde,
Like my mother always said?
We both had red hot tempers
Though she’d kiss me everyday
And sing, “Off you go”
As I skipped away.
Her red lipstick would
Stain my cheeks each day
My face was red and rosy
This way and that
My hair would blow and spread
If my hair was really fire
It would’ve painted the town red.
At least that’s what you had said.
My love for life
Was as passionate as red.
I used to drink red Pinot Noir
And laugh at the things you said.
But everyday I still felt duller.
I wasn’t as important
As the primary color red
The fragrance of spring’s rose petals
Never flowed my way
I still wait for it each day
Shall I slit my wrists
And show you color?
Pure, darkened red
The color green regrets
Being paired with me
Now I know that you and I just weren’t
Meant to be.
But I always was the color red.
Not the spicy flavor of chili pepper
Or the juice of sweet berry red
But the trapped tangles of
Mendhi on a bride’s hands
That wished she could be dead.
I am not the bright red
Of sindoor on her forehead
Nor the beauty of stained glass windows
But the prickly thorns on every rose.
I am the sharp pain
That women feel each month
I am not the place
Where the red fern grows
Nor Alice’s authoritative red queen
But the pair of red dice thrown down
And the bloody tears you’ve seen
That fell from Mary’s cheeks.
I always was the color red
Inside the temple of Seraphim
Even after I was dead
Drifting amidst white ghosts
You can still see
One that’s red.
Red
