Red

This is a poem in response to my mom's painting.

Her hips move

like a liquid pendulum,

one heel lifts, one knee bends,

one sudden look over her shoulder

glowers at the man seeping

through milky red light.

Arms float, hands flatten like stop signs,

then paddle through the scarlet fog

away from him.

The hem of her dress sways,

strains against the rhythm in her blood.

Shadowed eyelids are heavy, the body light.

When the music ends she will vanish

alone into the scorching white light

of the streets, rushing the dark alley.

In an empty apartment she'll slip

out of red silk and into nothing

until he comes.