Scarlet

She doubted the wisdom of

writing poems that blamed

what clearly didn't exist

but in the minds of neighbours

those she would greet on the way

to the shops not to get marked out

as a suspicious character

that wouldn't do the town any good.

Instead she would walk the hill

breathe the cool air of an early morning

greet the hares and wonder about

the shape of yonder mountain

where it was whispered gods once dwelt

before the invention of this phantom

that made one think in black and white

that caused her to dress in the colour of death

leaving no room for her dreams:

poems drenched in bitterness.

It just left her weary with memories

she wasn't supposed to have.

©Kees Klok

Thessaloniki, October 2009

Photo: Kees Klok