Ode to Red

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!

Older Poems I Recently Dug Up

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.


Thanksgiving Leftovers

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.

I Forgot

I forgot
what my voice sounded like.
I forgot
how even I
can weave words around
a heart.