Poetry Reading Sunday at Folk Art Museum

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Seeing Red

A tale of ships that came in conquest

it was written in red

of sacrifice of gods that are reborn

it was written in red

of the shocking widow dancing at the ball

it was written in red

of the child lost in the forest, blood on snow

it was written in red

a codex of glyphs may speak of a comet

of convergence, of man corn, of war

of the feathered ferocity of the hummingbird

of beauty up to her waist in water

of the throats of lilies and the mouths of enormous carp

of the wanderers in the sky who play hard ball underground

of serpents of stars and those that bring rain

of the ships’ figureheads of mermaids and monsters

and St. Elmo’s fire outlining every mast

plankton in a tide that kills

a warming sea, the melting poles, the axis tipped

of what you desire and what you fear

of the siddhu standing on one leg

and embroidery that tells of our survival

of me drinking coffee in a walled garden that is mine alone

of street fairs, fireworks, monsoon

of birth and accident and sunrise

it is written in red

it is written in red

it is written in red

—Miriam Sagan

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