Protest in Red                                  

She seriously considered

décor of black bolthole

remembered church

men’s dark suits

chose red instead

obvious after Joyce’s

oomb, allwombing tomb

mornings she woke

felt warriored up in the gloom

of crimson.

Cold afternoons, maroon

corners, cushions

a lamp, she wrote

read, face a moon

of concentration

elemental, animal

pomegranates in a bowl

chthonic Persephone

shoots forth. Earth flourishes

she rises too, off

a scarlet couch

opens bloody front door

on her way to work, shop, raise

velvet leaved vegetables

seeds in her pocket

sprinkles bare ground with

beetroot, poppies, poinsettias.