Thursday, February 21, 2008

What She Did With Red

She skips along in her red coat
adorned with gold star,
golden threads bouncing
from a scalp that

they mean to shave for
stuffing pillows.

She smiles despite red
aching muscles, fading cheeks
prolonged with potato peels

in cups of cloudy water
disguised as soup.

They want to drain her blood
to rinse dirt off sidewalks.

She learns to preserve scabs
that bleed for rosy color. Only
rosy cheeks pass inspection—cheap
cheek makeup that lets her live in hell.

They want to tattoo her skin
to make decorative lampshades.

She shys away, skeleton,
a transparent body,
thighless legs.
Only two long ankles

they keep thick enough to burn
like red logs, creating ashy
showers for them
that look like snowfall
against red skies.

But acid showers for her,
skinned over a red bulb.

She skips

her childhood. Blood flowing
helpless against brute fists,
a Jew colored paint staining
a red history,

red innocence flooding
the floor.

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