red green

In the interminable space between red and green, the radio plays my favorite song from a decade ago. In the artist’s untrained but tremulous alto, between the cracks of her voice, as she strives in vain to reach the correct pitch, I see a beautiful color-faded time. A beautiful rewind, she sang to my ears, that lodged a lump in my throat.  A twinge of reveries running down my spine evoked that peculiar time of grief-filled youth, when a prescient sense of loss preceded such events.  And I, filled to a brim, jostled by the red to green, did narrowly avoid a spill.



little dandelion seeds
i will save you all
red red red

tell me what to do
paint my lips rouge
prop me up with your bare hands

bore a hole in my cheek
let blood flow down my face
dry them with my sawdust

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