Red in my Cheeks

The same red that trickles

from a scraped knee when I’ve

fallen off my bicycle. Down it drips, and I wish

I’d shaved my legs. It’ll be all caked down

by the time I get home. Down it cascades, to stain

my socks, to stain my shoes. Part of me marked

on the sidewalk, here, until the next rainfall

washes me away.

I was never here.

Just stained socks and a scab by tomorrow,

from this reservoir that I’ve opened

up from nothing. When what I’ve left behind

melts into the earth, feeds a weed here between

the cracks of the sidewalk, should I be

proud? That I’ve nursed life into concrete

from the same red that brushes across

my face from ear to ear, in embarrassment,

in infatuation? When I love the world it knows

it by this color, so may this drop be the last

element in a potion to keep me safe

until I get home to wash it all away,

pretend I was never here with just this

red to give away my secret.