Scarlet Widow I am black: a shadow in widow’s weeds. Though grief festers, I can tell you it is only by propriety. Cowering under this misery blanket, suffocating, I dream of riding in a sleek red convertible, immersed in loud music, wind tears wetting my cheeks; then you hand me some frivolous trinket and we laugh in unison on the low road. I am black: tethered in my rightful place, clawing thick air that compresses bubbles of brewing gaiety clambering to rise and burst; fireworks on a sullen sky. I want to wear a short, tight, cerise dress and dance in front of an admiring audience, flirting; seducing the night ‘til dawn paints me pink as I sip flat champagne on the way home. I am black: lost in a bare hinterland where endless thick grey scrub chokes shoots of emerging levity. and time dawdles mocking, at the pace of a grim cortege. Oh! for days that stroll into those evenings, when a ripe mango sunset deepens on a scarlet sea and tequila melts me to drunken contentment, playing barefoot, wearing a silly smile. But I am black.Birth sign: Aries
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