The MVC Literary Journal

Scarlet is waking at 4 45 am to attempt to outrun the sunrise,

Returning out of breath and entirely accomplished, prepared to take on the day.

Scarlet Is passing an ex-lover on the street,

Making eye contact but not conversation,

Letting the silence do all the talking,

Taking the high road for once.

Scarlet is vibrato on a note above the staff,

The title of second soprano,

A private hallelujah at finally succeeding after so much

Hard work.

Scarlet is poetry at midnight,

A cigarette out an open window,

Collarbones and hipbones,

Mascara running at the words “we’re through.”

A torn skirt,

Coffee burning the tongue and lips of a girl much too young to be forming an

Addiction.

Scarlet is a masterpiece composed entirely by accident,

Shock at the realization that one condemned life could actually be

worth something

in another’s eyes.

Scarlet is glamour,

Idolizing someone who is far too unstable to become a god.

Scarlet is the act of trying

Keeping hopes from crashing even when

Every minute is being ruined

And giving up is terribly appealing.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres