the history of red

words seldom capture the truth or the emotion of our existence but this poem does both

the hour of soft light...

the history of red
Red is the share of fire
I have stolen
from root, hoof, fallen fruit.
And this was hunger.
40
Red is the human house
I come back to at night
swimming inside the cave of skin
that remembers bison.
In that round nation
of blood
we are all burning,
red, inseparable fires
the living have crawled
and climbed through
in order to live
so nothing will be left
for death at the end.
31
This life in the fire, I love it.
I want it,
this life.

~ Linda Hogan

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