Red Silk

In her
red silk
            gown
it is easy
to see the
girl she was
                       (The baby but one.)
Dust bowl
preemie
refusing to
                 die
taunting the
devil with 
kitten cries
from the
Red silk
             petticoat                                  
                                   (There’s a story there, sugar.)
in Granny’s
bottom drawer

How many times
in eighty years
had she kept death
                              away
flaming
Red silk
in her Cherokee
                         fist
                                        (Granny was a medicine woman.)
Daring death
to cross her
driving him
                  back
from self
                  back
from family
                          (Six brothers in the war and not a one dead.)
                  
back
from the
                    blessed
                    broken
                                Daughter
                                     (They told me she’d be dead by the age of ten.)
the red-winged
                        angel
she buried
                finally
today

Buried in
Red silk
                 (To keep the blues away.)

©s rogers 2008

4 thoughts on “Red Silk

  1. malcolmjames says:

    So death is a man.

  2. catgem says:

    when it suits, yes.

  3. Beautiful. Interesting structure – I’ve always wondered if I might ever be able to write in such a way.

  4. catgem says:

    thank you, sleeping… it’s just my own twisted mind… smiles

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