Redhead

Red is the color of witches and war,

Of sinners and sirens and saints;

Bloodsuckers, banshees,

And lucky leprechauns

All bear it with no complaints.

But red is the color of love and life,

Soft shimmering sunsets at sea.

Majestic manes, mythic mermaids,

And regal red roses too.

Without fire, where would we be?

Most of all, red is the color of us,

Pure passion persevering.

Royalty, renegades, revolutionaries;

Flying flags full of flame,

And new paths, pioneering.

Always, red is the color of Mom,

Or at least it is for me.

Inherited? No. The color was not,

But her warmth and love? Taught.

So red is the color to be.

Ten-Year-Old Girl

My nails look as if done by a ten-year-old girl,

All splotchy and smeared and lumpy.

I suppose one could say in a way that they were,

 Even though the girl's over twenty.

If I could go back all those years just to warn her

That she'd regret not learning things "girly,"

I don't think I'd bother with such an effort,

For I know she would simply ignore me.

But now she's behind and a little bit lost,

Though it really does count that she's trying.

She'll figure it out, with practice and time

And kill those regrets she's been fighting.