| POETry |
| Before the Red |
| Snow the first snow of winter clean and pure falling tiger lilies resting on my tongue melting quick as jackrabbits running across the yard in springtime white like the sheet before the red i can't feel my legs and he's breathing in my ear loud like a pig and this pain...this pain ...what kind of pain is this? maybe if i'd stayed eleven... When spring came the first one after i stood out in the rain naked beneath my clothes trying to wash his hands off my body and the sound out of my ears i don't like to be tickled he used to tickle me first, you know before the red... i find dark spots in the snow now nothing's pure anymore... Copyright 1995 by Robin Byrd |
| POETry page 5 |
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