In Red

In the waiting room of my life, there are no magazines with covers that have lost their gloss…ripped, ratty, worked-over.

No drab, green walls with framed artwork that should draw you in, but instead, makes you question the very concept of “art,” itself.

The walls are red, like my blood.

No carpeting the color of putty that, miraculously, never shows the wear and tear wrought by everyday trudgery.

The carpet is red, like my heart.

What my waiting room does have is me, lost in my dream, expectant and hopeful, but, also, leery…from experience, you see.

My dream is red, like a sunset on fire.

I perch on the edge of my seat, poised, fragile wings spread and ready to take flight — to who knows where, and to what. (And, why?)

Ready to claim what I believe is deserved and rightfully mine, that “thing” I’ve worked so hard to attain for too many years now.

My lips are red, like poppies in a field.

Waiting and wondering if my dream will come true in a world filled with dreamers, all of us chasing that which is most elusive.

My drive is red, like a fire that can't be contained.

Just like me, they fret and stew and vow to “work harder” as they try to envision what awaits at the end of their rainbow.

Is it a pot of gold? Fame? Love? Acceptance? What is it worth, this something that seems to inarticulate and so out of reach?

My life is red, like a burning bush in Autumn

If I don’t know, why am I here?

Because I am stubborn. And strong. And resilient. And so certain, that if I just stay a little longer in my room of “red,” I’ll soon be called.