A Red Sky
A red sky although the day has passed in gray.
So many times I’ve seen it linger
in the woods across the street. I have a book that tells me
I should seek my inner answer,
it says: could be a beast not a pretty man not a white horse—
doesn’t say a red sky, yet out I fly
to greet it, it has showed for me I’m sure.
I’ve got a shovel with me, I will lift
a bridal whiteness to it, oh my snow age
does not dissuade. The sky behind the trees
is shy, I notice it arrives each night no closer.
Hey, I say, my purple beret is jaunty,
I dressed all rococo for you, my hair-do flares
out in the wind, a sky would like that, no?
You are so red is this a blush what of it—stumble
forth, I say, I think I’m yours come get me.
Why hang back, time passes quick
the day’s fast gone, and you of all skies
should know this—my book insists that I must
speak with you, so come oh come, I am standing
in front of my house at the top of the hill.
I will be here every night.
Rosemary Starace writes and makes visual art in the Berkshires of western Massachusetts, US. She is author of the poetry collection Requitements and co-editor, with Moira Richards and Lesley Wheeler, of the anthology Letters to the World. Her poems can be seen online at Orion, Umbrella, and, along with an essay on adoption and poetics, in Poets on Adoption. More of her writing and art appear on her website.