Red

Red 
(with apologies to Madeline L'Engle)

The Chinese use red as the color of celebration,
auspicious new years,
fortuitous marriages.
The bride wears red.

I look good in red.
Red is the liquid ambar tree I can see from my bedroom window in autumn.
It is rich and beautiful.
Red is energy,
the sun shining through the blood vessels in my closed eyelids.
Red feels warm.
It is a confirmation of being alive.

But red could also be the color of 
agitation,
   terror,
      overstimulation,
         dysregulation, 
            seeing red.
Red is the matador’s cape waved in front of an angry bull,
a state you do not want to be in, 
some kind of dystopia
into which your neurology suddenly tessers you,
through a mysterious wrinkle in time.

It is so hard to get back out of the red zone.

Red used to my favorite color, but now I am not so sure. 

It is so . . . primary.

I now gravitate towards something more complex, 

yellow-green perhaps, or yellow-orange.

My wedding dress was yellow-green, 

Still life-affirming, but not

Red

This poem is another product of the Powder Works Writers Group. At a recent meeting, we all used "red" as a prompt, and as usual it led each of us in an entirely different direction. For another take on the color red, please see Zoe Francesca's poem at Pink House Poetry.