RED

Whenever something happened,
Meaning death--one in the world,
Or a truth of the heart--
She would dye her hair red,
Not a decorous red,
But brilliant, orangey,
The color of flames in her wood stove
When the last ashes flared up
Before dying down.

This is how he remembers her:
She is standing in the snow.
In the meadow,
Beginning to shiver,
Her arms folded over her breast,
She is not wearing a coat,
But she is smiling
That smile of joy that in her
Was never far from the tears
That lit her eyes in any light,

And he remembers how she hung
Red ribbons on the children's crib,
A strange return to superstition,
He hadn't realized
How superstitious she was,
Or how she knew what she knew,
As if she could read what was coming
In the cracks of a ceiling
Or the lines of a hand,
And how, when she was finished,
She turned to him and smiled,

He remembers her
In that snowy meadow,
Smiling at him,
Touched by winter light,
Her hair--no, her head--on fire.