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Red..
Red is blood and sweat,
the hours turning children to boys and boys to men.
It is the barn
the time spent dreaming up cowboy fantasies.
It’s the bull
who stomps the earth flat ‘neath hard hooves.
It’s dad’s truck
loud as an elephant and tough as a croc.
Red is a small piece of wood
floating in the middle of a muddy pond
faintly labeled “Maringue”.
We swung from those branches
crawdads pinching our toes.
It is fire
burning up the back yard
my brother standing there holding the match.
It is mamma’s temper
who loved us enough to be angry sometimes.
Red is her hands
raw from hours spent cooking and cleaning and washing and sweeping.
Red is a feeling
a wild child running from fear, from doubt.
It is two lips
beautiful green eyes and a heart full of love.
It is flowers
red on white on smiles .
Red is two rosy cheeks
two brown eyes, two little trusting hands.
It is four more pairs of rosy cheeks
light little feet running on the kitchen floor.
It is a small brick house
a first real home, the rich soil with which to plant memories.
Red is a swing
precious angels crying, “Higher daddy, higher!”
It is a scraped knee
held in father’s arms while mamma kisses it better.
It is roses
red on black on tears
looking back and realizing what you left behind.
Red is hearts
worn, but together ’till the end.
It is a fire like her mother
burning brighter and brighter.
It is the same feelings of fear and doubt
felt all those years ago,
made stronger by age and love.
Red is anger and fighting
closed doors and locked windows.
It is a back porch
gazing at the stars,
praying prayers you’ve never prayed before.
It is two hearts, father and daughter,
knowing that she’ll be taken away,
but reassured by “I love you dad.”
It is those same wedding flowers
Red on white on smiles
and tears.
It is a small car
confetti bouncing on the back
your little girl headed towards forever.
It is a blazing sunset
80 years old and smiling,
held in the arms of afternoon,
knowing you lived in a fairytale.
Red is two lips
smiling one last goodbye.
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