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Red Song

 

Red Song

 

As geese flutter at water’s edge,

I walk the path around the lake

where green trees surround

like a mother’s gaze.

Sun brushes water

with whispers of light,

as if Monet painted

this scene, captured 

the hue of Woman in Green Dress.

 

With these thoughts,                

foot disconnects from the ground.

Hands thrown in front, too late

to keep my chin from bursting

with red song. I breathe deeply,

picture Tim Weisberg's fingers 

moving over the flute

like Monet's brush,

swirling a myriad of colors.

 

I dab my chin, with a tissue,

color filling the blank space,

rub my scraped hands, wipe dirt and grass

from my knees, notice a large bruise

on my left thigh, as if Monet

dipped his brush in purple and red,

painting a sunset for my souvenir

while Weisberg serenades me home.

 

 

Robin Wright

 

Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in Ariel Chart, Minnow Literary Magazine, Ekphrastic Review, Re-side, Black Bough Poetry, Spank the Carp, Muddy River Poetry Review, Rat’s Ass Review, and others. One of her poems was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Panoply, and her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was recently published by Finishing Line Press

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1 Comments

  1. art needs a point of view and quite happy to see one and be content

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