Red

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Hand woven textiles from Mexico and South America woven on a narrow loom, probably a back strap loom, Bazaar Del Mundo, 2008.

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Duck: Slept most of the day. Was asleep when we got there. Me: A slicing and dicing day. Remember, I’m “shortly” of time now as of Friday. I’ll be reading you, sometimes in clumps, and I may not have time to note back. G: Discovered that it wasn’t his turn to get off the board, darn it. He’s resigning as Treasurer and will take another job for the year. At least, that was the plan as he went out the door.

Red, red blues, red oranges, purple reds,
any reds wonderful reds
joyfully shedding their redness all over the house
as I walk by
dropping threads
scattering bits and pieces and orts,
what a wonderful word that,
that stuck to me as if I were
a flannel board

all I have now in the end,
are rows of red bits, red shapes marching down
the edges of my table
amorphous cut reds
forms
waiting there
hovering, if sliced reds could be said
to hover,
waiting for a new redness.