BY MADELEINE CHOU
Staff Writer
Our first red
Was the call
In an aging phone booth
To you, a stranger — falling fast
Our second red
Was the dusting blush
In a quiet room
For you, a friend — enthralled at last
Our third red
Was the cup
In a new café
For us, a pair — healing cast
Our fourth red
Was the ring
In autumn leaves
For us, a marriage — meant to last
Our fifth red
Was the blood
In your fanned out hair
As you lay motionless
Rosy cheeks and ruby lips
Draining out
All our reds
Categories:
Red: a poem
September 29, 2016
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