Untitled

I wore a small ruby
on an old chain
wrapped twice around my ankle.

Sometimes I stared
at it so hard
it felt like red
was the only color in the world.

I stretch out
on the thick rug
at the foot of my fireplace.
I rest my bare feet
against the mantel.
The walls in my apartment stand
as a movie screen
upon which dreaded
memories reveal themselves.

Bright red streams of blood,
Bruise the color of a Midwest sunset,
Black Giorgio sunglasses,
those trendy,
graffiti inspired shirts
I wore for weeks.
The movie ends.

My cat scratches at the door.
I open it & we huddle
together on the couch.
I wrap my arms
around her ancient fragile body.
Against her black
fur, shines the
red brilliance of my ruby -
never letting me forget
the blood red sunset
the night you left.

1/31/98



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