I’ll give you red,

the color the Russians loved

so much they used it to make

their word for beautiful:

krasniy.

I’ll give you scarlet

from the epaulets of blackbirds.

Or cardinal

from the spirits threading

through a steamy green

Midwestern afternoon.

I’ll give you crimson

from the feathers the parrot

hides in his tail

and only lets us see

when he is furious.

Here is your cerise

the sad, shameful stain of cherries.

And vermilion

the bright sash of yesterday

that lingers on the horizon.

I’ll give you ruby

the color of lies

that lovers tell themselves,

the flame at the prism’s

deepest heart.

But I will keep this red

the drunken sweet damp scent

of the breeze that sweeps

over strawberry fields

in June.

 

From Wild Domestic (Pearl).

This poem is on display at the Long Beach Transit Gallery in Long Beach, California. 

Used with the author’s permission.