Red is . . . (a color poem)
a geranium, the only flower I can’t kill.
It’s a blood orange in the west
and a sign that means stop.
the crunch of leaves,
a cardinal’s song, and hummingbirds fighting at the feeder.
It’s a barn full of stomping hooves and swishing tails.
a warm tomato fresh from the garden and strawberry freezer jam.
It’s my mother-in-law’s red cinnamon applesauce in the same glass bowl
and a stick of licorice.
sore throats and cherry popsicles.
and it’s healing.
It dances on Rahab’s cord and breathes letters of hope.