The Colour of Regret

I think of her

and I see red

Blood red

As in The Red Army Choir

I wore her red winter coat

Because I liked it

We were standing in line at Massey Hall in Toronto

And there was a band of protestors forming

I looked over at them, confused

One of them yelled at me, ”Hey, you in the red coat, don’t you know better?”

I didn’t. I was 15, going to a concert with my mom

She loved the music, and didn’t care for the politics

We were here to hear them sing

We travelled two hours

on a school night, just to be here

They sang with their rich, deep voices and played a vibrant symphony

We were lifted, even as a protestor got in and started yelling at the audience

I didn’t know why these protestors were there

The choir was here for the celebration of music.

I didn’t know what The Red Army was about

And I didn’t care.

I just wanted to be there with her

enjoying the moment, after the drive against the frigid sky with icy stars.

I wore her red coat

because I liked it

And it reminded me

of her

I looked for that coat

after she died

but it was gone

only to cloak my memories

Red

Blood red

was her favourite colour

Bright, bold, punchy

stood out in the crowd

unlike her soft-spoken nature

I wore her red coat

and took that away from her

because I liked it