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.
