Red…
a crayon, an apple, jello,
a vase of roses on the
living room table,
red shoes.
It sounds like noses
blowing,
fire ants walking on a
steel pole,
a toilet flushing.
Red feels hard like the
cover of a book,
soft like wet blood and
warm clay,
hot like steam.
If red could
it would roll down a
hill,
color a picture of a
dog’s nose or a shirt
or even my brother’s
face.
Red.
by
All
the Young poets in the Church of the Good Shepherd
After-school
program - Hartford