An Ode To Red Curls

[pixi19]

I don't remember if I ever posted this, but I re-read it tonight, so I thought I'd re-post it since it dragged me out of a close call with another sleepless night of self-pity. This poem makes me proud of who I am. Written in Fall 2006.

Swirls of
cherry licorice,
tattooed on the scalp
of the wide-eyed newborn.
Gentle, delicate,
crimson brushstrokes
immediately
draw the eye
of those that witness her entrance
into the world.

Spirals of fire
plucked from the
setting sun
frame the countenance,
or cover it -
a bright orange veil that
glares, exuding
confidence
while blinding the observer
to what may be a
withering, cold,
and gray night
beyond.

A cascade of
autumn,
a sun-kissed
waterfall,
a length of silk,
stained with the
tears of rubies and
woven by the pixies
into priceless rope
so that they may scale even the
tallest
and most treacherous
peaks.

Angry,
blood-red snakes,
reflecting the very blaze of hell,
snarl and hiss,
preceding the sharp daggers
of a frozen
blue eye,
fiery
despite the cold.
Yet when approached with a
gentle hand,
loving gaze,
the same evil creatures
may become
soft, enticing fingers,
beckoning,
seducing,
caressing the skin
of he whom is
worthy
of the title
“lover”.