Picasso had his blue period
Then the rose, followed by
The white, black and grey
of Guernica, his ode to
the horrors of war.
I don’t of Picasso in terms of red, period.
Red rests on every canvas in my living room above
the red Turkish carpet.
Dense rich vibrant cadmium.
It is blood spilled from a pin prick
an auto accident, or a soldier killed instantly.
I am connected to crimson through
My cycles of womanhood
and births of my children.
Red courses through my veins
and flows out through my brush,
the ultimate connection of my interior to my exterior.
Red pigment, is finally, for me,