Journal of Colour: Red

Red is a dance of slit heels
Running from slave fields
Wine is the red of a sour soul
Of bitter tannin tongue and stained lips
Blood is the Dahlia’s grin,
Red even in black and white

Red is blood orange at the funeral reception
The open casket is not red at all
Ruby were his eyes, and red
Was the edge of his dull pocketknife
Red was always the color of autumn blaze
Red is eyes shut
Staring at the sky’s fire

Tyra Jutai