Red

I hate the color red.

So bold and crass the color that stands out like blood,

Against the dying tissue of humanity.

I heard a comedian-

Describing, so eloquently, the death of his grandfather in a poem;

One dropped in the middle of a comedic act,

So well placed

My bones and organs clenched and bent around each word.

Blue, they described themselves.

A blue dot amongst a landscape of gray.

Adrift, at the loss of their grandfather.

Trauma is a life of many deaths, they had said.

The organs just inside my ribcage pulling together

Like a morning dump I had yet to take.

Blue, they had described themselves.

As if the color stood out.

Suddenly enraged, all I could see was the perfectly cut collar of their silk shirt.

The crisp lines that seemed to accentuate and articulate each and every word.

I studied the sleeves, the buttons, the wrist cuffs

And the bright red that dominated their silky attire.

Perhaps it is my whiteness, I said to myself.

Maybe they’re thinking of different shades of blue

But always it came back to the blistering red that somehow matched their eyes.

I’ve never given much thought to the color of my background

But I’ve spared plenty of time thinking about how I felt

I stood out against it.

Red. Like a pimple on the face of the world

Red. Like a balloon tied down, but flapping wildly in the wind

Of an otherwise calm, dreary (I guess gray)

Painting of a European street…a nice bike or tree at the base

Of my helium roja distress

When I was younger, the balloon wasn’t tied down.

In all its red, helium induced glory, it floated,

Menacingly, adrift in the sky

Starkly contrasted against the peaceful, pale blue

And obvious to anyone watching.

It was bumpy, unpredictable, and dependent on everything outside of its own control

And always alone.

But mostly, it was focused on the red.

But the image now had changed, that was true.

Tethered tightly, it no longer yielded

To the forces outside itself.

Instead it whipped violently, attacking whatever

Remained in the immediate vicinity

Unable to flow from place to place

What stabilization had provided had also

Invited false senses of security and a willingness

To do anything to protect that.

And the red never changed.