Today's poem is by Lori Lamothe
Absence of Red
A carpet of shoes
unrolls at the bottom of the stairs.
It's as if the beach is the kind of religion
that demands its rituals:
the walk across yellow coals,
comfort dropped at the door of blue.
Which I guess is why, when you
see the warning signs
waves colliding from both sides,
risk crashing into risk
it seems like everybody's chanting
a dialect of lost passwords.
At the edge of distance, two guys
toss a football back and forth
and kids on boogie boards
float so far past the sound of their names
you can't believe they'll ever
swim in safety again.
Once you stood on a darkened street,
trashed on bravado.
When your life skidded into headlights
and a screech of tires
the boy behind the wheel
leaned his head out the window
and asked you to breakfast.
That's not what you want now
but sometimes you listen for it anyways
the heart beating a reprieve,
the sudden absence of red.
Copyright © 2016 Lori Lamothe All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Weekly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved