Carolyn Adams

what do you see?

 Red, House

right hand
pointing

Her meticulously kept house
sits so ostensibly proper
and suburban, it hurts.
Its dormer windows jut bug-eyed, 
so vigilant are they in keeping      
the goodness of her taste,
so vigilant they’re blind to the hill
on which the house is sitting, 
the hill not only covered with
but comprised entirely of nothing
but blooming, blood-red roses
she’s never noticed 
cracking her foundation
and wafting their aroma
through her downstairs rooms,
up the stairs, and out 
her open dormer windows
like gaudy prayers
shocking her perfect heaven
whose lonely god’s a cloud.

 

Larry Thomas