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the red trilogy: a three-part story in verses

>> Tuesday, July 27, 2010

the rape of red

the room reeks of semen,
cigarette and guilt.
the last she shrugs off
hastily. she fumbles with
the buttons, one eye
on the door while a foot
searches for the pair
but finds her ring instead.

she steals a last look at
the bed, sighs and smiles
and with fluid steps and
feverish skin she flies out
the door, knocking the
number 7 down, leaving a
swinging letter L but
not a sound is heard.

she falters into the house
that seems a stranger's,
smaller and decaying.
the jutting hips ebb
and the fire in her breast
snuffs and comes a
lonely song in her head,
a requiem for the dead.

midnight finds them on the
empty bed, she's dreaming
of burning his house down
while he stares at the back
of her head thinking,
tomorrow he will
paint the walls

red fades to red

she stares into the wine 
glass lost in the 
swirling and flushed 
dark brew. you look 
wonderful he says. he 
always says that, she 
is certain, to dismiss 
the dead air as if

it still makes her 
uncomfortable, the dead 
air. dead air is one of 
the many dead things 
she has learned to live 
with. she laughs at the 
thought. he smiles. life 
is good he reflects. time

settles into a funeral 
march and she is further 
away. far from the soft 
voices and the clinks of
wedding bands against 
glass. she is back in that
cafe where she met him
while living out her passing.

midnight finds them on the 
empty bed, he's dreaming 
of summers in the country
while she stares at the 
back of his head thinking,
tomorrow she will
wear something

man woman red

it's been two winters since 
he last saw her red dress 
hanging forlornly in her 
spot in the closet. he thought 
she'd forsaken it too when 
he came home to a bereaved 
space, orphaned, not even
a letter to collect his tears.

a smile escapes and rests 
on his face as he recognizes 
a hint of light for his fading 
heart. he thinks, at last, an end 
to dreams of shadowing 
her shadow, only a hint is left
of a love that did not endure,
it's time that he breathes again. 

she still sees his face when she 
dreams in sepia or beholds
the mist lift at the break of
dawn. but the taste of the
pain is diminished every
time, throb by throb. at last 
forgiveness will come, more 
ardently than forgetting.

midnight finds them on their
empty beds, wide awake and
far away. he is spying on sea
gulls taking to the sky, grey
against the sun. she is
gathering, by the 
river, wild roses


Note: The original poem's (the rape of red), ahem, success caused me to write the prequel (red fades to red) and the sequel (man woman red). I guess everybody wants a start and an ending to every story, prose or otherwise. 


Generique(lxxy)Media July 27, 2010 at 1:38 PM  

"number 7 down, leaving a
swinging letter L but
not a sound is heard."

Nice...! I love this, it paints the scene so vividly.

sheenarobins July 27, 2010 at 7:02 PM  

(dreamy sigh) you always leave me feeling like that. If in another life God would ask me who I'd like to be among my writer friends...I'd say, "I want to be that guy who use to call himself an on line junkie."

Another masterpiece and yes you mesmerize me...always.

Thank you for sharing your gift...for free. hahaha

Fun and Fearless July 27, 2010 at 7:58 PM  

How vivid! Actually it took me a while to grasp the "swinging letter L". Nice. ^_^

But . . .the picture . . . hmmm ('_')

Nancy Hinchliff July 28, 2010 at 4:55 AM  

Compelling piece, Cris. Love the photo. As always, your poetry and images are amazing.

Cris A July 28, 2010 at 2:08 PM  

indiscretion works best in silence. methinks. haha

that was so suweet of you to say, but then again, you're always suweet :D

Hey thanks again for coming over. Ah the pic...I usually don't explain myself but here and all its many encumbrances should know no gender. haha at least I tried :D

That's kind of you to say, thanks for inspiring this wannabe poet :D

Fun and Fearless July 28, 2010 at 8:02 PM  

Oh. Ok. Thanks for the explanation. And sorry you have to explain due to my amateurish approach toward images and poetry. I've been having a hard time procesing things in my head lately. (Wait, why am I explaining?!) Haha!

I got it now. Those different eyes with apparently different lashes haunted me for a couple of nights. I swear.

Ann Rodela July 30, 2010 at 12:41 PM  

The color red left hairs at the back of my neck standing. Sh...don't breath...:)

Cris A August 6, 2010 at 1:32 AM  

No prob. And if you must know, then you should know. Haha there are days too that I'm mentally lethargic.

Alright, this might rid you of the nightmarish visions - they're celebrities. Viggo Mortensen (fr the LOTR poster) and Nicole Kidman.

Indeed, red is many things. It's highly context-dependent.

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