Deepest red

The wood of the worn out, out lived,
lived through steps feels smooth,
the fading paint in blisters: was it
originally red or brown?

The ghost who went here often
in her wedding gown, would she
still haunt, or did you make her up
the same way that you loved me?

The wood feels smooth and polished
from years of going up and down the stairs,
is like the ghost and I: fragile, threadbare,
bare, tattered. All in deepest, painful red.

Comments on: "Deepest red" (6)

  1. Ina, I like how you’ve repeated words here which subtly adds to the feeling of worn stairs, stairs that have seen those footsteps going up and down so many times. Very nicely written!

  2. Haunting…feel as if i just went through an out of body experience…so many evocative images and
    “…or did you make her up
    the same way that you loved me?”
    broke my heart…

  3. That second stanza comparing the made-up ghost to an imperfect love was a surprise to me as a reader, a good surprise, mind you, but really the heart of the poem.

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