Her blouse is a silky red today,
not the cruel blood-red of her eyes
after her usual night of debauched drinking,
after her usual night of debauched drinking,
nor the gaudy crimson of her smeared lipstick,
but the brilliant red plumage of the cardinals
who nested in the yews of her childhood,
feathers flaming against winter's virgin white.
feathers flaming against winter's virgin white.
She remembers things she's forgotten,
things she wishes she hadn't done,
knows she can't run away
because there's nowhere to go.
PROMPT NOTES:
#1: Write a poem about a favorite bird.
I don't have any idea where this one came from...
I can still surprise myself.
things she wishes she hadn't done,
knows she can't run away
because there's nowhere to go.
PROMPT NOTES:
#1: Write a poem about a favorite bird.
I don't have any idea where this one came from...
I can still surprise myself.
4 comments:
It came from your heart, Marianne...the best of all places.
Elizabeth
Really good writing, Marianne.
Love,
Pammy
Beautiful, Marianne. Cardinals are one thing I miss about Ohio.
Your exploration of red is excellent. So glad we are in this together.
Brenda
Lovely poem, Marianne. I love that you wrote about cardinals.
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