Red

poetry | Red

“All the world’s a merry stage, and I was looking around. Red streaked through to my rib cage, and you were handed the crown.”

It was in the midst of summer when you first held my hand.

The grass was greener than it’d ever seemed and the trees were shadier than they’d ever been, and there was this growth of little violet flowers beneath the tree that we were leaning on, and. You were fascinated. Your blue orbs were dazzling, reminding me of the time my father took me to the Walden beach and I watched the sunlight break into a dance on those roaring waves. I was fascinated. I’d never been to a beach since but looking into your eyes, I could easily see the boundless ocean. I could hear the waves rushing after another in their haste to reach the shore. Even under the cool of the tree, I could feel the sun boring warm holes in my arms, like it did the one time I visited it on the beach.

We were, quite literally, in the midst of summer.

Your hands graced through the bed of flowers as mine wanted to through your hair. I went ahead to pluck some of the violets for you and you swatted away my hand and I held my breath as your fingers curled around my fist. A wild thought entered my heart, and I was sure. I was sure if at that moment I would have closed my eyes for longer than a blink, I would have seen red instead of the ever present black. That if in the republic of my body there would’ve been a vote, my heart would’ve been king.