Red is the Color

image borrowed from bing

Red is the Color

Asleep on the red sofa,
cushions soaked with urine,
tucked tight beneath the freeway,
ratty sleeping bag covering
the tracks between her dirty toes;
adrift in a lovely meth dream,
she became

a Cherokee princess, her long wet hair
shining by a quiet pool beneath a
magic waterfall, the sound of the traffic
flow merging with her illusions, playing
a wooden flute in perfect chorus
with the Disney bird-chatter in the glen,

greeting a smiling morning, its golden
shafts of sunlight piercing the thick
canopy of conifers, her dark lids twitching
with REM freedom, as she felt
the flush of first love, her mouth
on the reed reflecting her joy,
her fetching visage shimmering
in the deep clear water beside her;

while robins, jays, and sparrows flitted
about in tempestuous bird tag,
bouncing on low branches, barely
hearing the pair of crows pecking
at the scabs on her exposed feet.

Glenn Buttkus

November 2011

Listed as #26 over on Magpie Tales 93

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