Red

The reds were her favorites
And they covered her work
Every crayon held
Between the chubby fingers of the little girl.

The reds were her favorites
And the ink stained her hands
As she filled the fridge
With marker streaked pages.

The reds were her favorites
And her maps showed the hues
With her head down
As she worked the pencils across her paper.

The reds were her favorites
And she discovered a new canvas
Slicing and spilling
An abstract attempt at life.

The reds were her favorites
And they now paint her sheets
While she lies forever still,
The center of her last masterpiece.

(r.e.u.)