I could liken you, of course, to blood like on the days that we would butcher chickens as red would fly and feathers and sometimes the chickens themselves or when I was little and scrapped my knee or the time that they had to sew my finger back on. But Red, that makes you sound so ruthless especially when you sit peacefully in my kitchen on a beautiful platter--little cupcakes with white frosting or the round little pillow with the button in the middle that is on my bed that I too am on or his lips when he is hungry for me.
Red, I know you to be the walls in the room where my piano stood and the tall shelves that held all of those books that I grew up reading and Red, you are my favorite coat and my sexiest lingerie.
We are told that you are roses but you are a million other little flowers as well. You can be dangerous little berries that stop the heart (also red) but I've discovered you in a market in Tokyo on a terribly rainy day in the sweetest strawberries I've ever had.
Red, you can be rosy cheeks and laughter. When I think of grizzly hugs, aside from grizzlies, I think of you. Needless to say Red, we have given you Love.
I paint my toenails up in you my lips too, that have so much to say and sometimes nothing to say at all.
Red, we are told that you are passion but they won't come out and say that you are an animal wild and hungry and they won't say how sometimes you can be soft and sometimes even quiet, all they can remember is your fire like the time the neighbors house burst into flames and the red truck came to hose it out and all of their water-damaged, smoke-scented belonging that meant everything to them was brought out into the front lawn or they remember the fire of the red shoes which meant "come and get me!"
But I know you Red because, don't forget that I am an animal too and we've got a bit of it all don't we?
you sit. you sit quietly and contemplate. you wonder what other people put into their minds when they sit quietly. that person... that person must have a poignant thought now and then. you tell yourself that some small miracle is happening within them now. you promise your heart that their heart is full of secrets of love of all the little things that go into pockets and books and quiet corners. You tell yourself that they are full of fire and at anytime may explode like champagne or combust like tnt because they must have that within them somewhere. they must!
I will not make of your body a temple to be tiptoed over and worshipped only because it is a temple and has heard a great many prayers and held many Gods and Saints in its arms.
You will be a feild to be run over wildly. I will roll in your golden grass and let my heart seep out of my skin and into your soil and down into the earth.
I will not whisper. I will laugh madly, throw back my head and let my hair tangle up in the thought of you.
When you are a river, I will not wait for the ferry crossing. I will wade into the cool freshness of you up to my knees and throw my body down into you. I'll plunge with my eyes open.
I will shake you and make all the leaves of your mind dance.
I will not put you away on a shelf thinking that by not opening your strong binding, I am honoring you. No, I will devour all of your pages. I will turn corners down and mark you up with pen and pencil. I will spill wine and tears into you.
When you are the last tree standing, I will not cut you down to build a house. I will not carve you into a boat so that I can escape from that part of the world. I will crawl up inside of you and let you protect me just the way you are. And I will make sure that you get enough water.
I will let you wrinkle my soul if only you'd let me do the same.
YOU ARE A FISH
You are a fish Beautiful and colorful. You are that wild, scaly thing That I admire And don't relate to at all.
It'd probably be easier with you If I put you in a tank And told myself That you are fish And can't be held. It'd be easier if I just watched You swim back and forth Around your miniature stone castle.
Because then I wouldn't find myself disappointed with you For things that you cannot do.
It's just that your colors catch my eye And those wild whiskers.
Your scales are purple And I think that probably your blood is purple too.
If my words could reach you Through air bubbles I'd tell you That you need to learn to love The fish that you are.
You are last weeks Thanksgiving dinner that hangs out in the fridge in miscellaneous Tupperware. Honestly, I am rather sick of you but I don't want you to go to waste so I eat you anyway. Also, I know that in a month from now I'll reallly be craving that last piece of pumpkin pie that I let fall to the trash bin. I'll want a cold sandwich made with left-over turkey and layered with pickles. And so I lift you to my lips again Open my mouth and devour you quickly so I don't have to taste you too much.