Red

In his new poem

the red autumn woods

are a metaphor

for leftist martyrs

We are traveling east through a maple forest

that blazes the hillsides on both sides of this winding

back-country road Look at the trees I want to tell him

Listen The trees have their own stories to tell

like the story of fire deep within the heart They too

have been martrys in the long war against the land, a nation

cut down, children denied

A hundred years ago these hills were bare of trees

the stone walls that wind through them

the illusion of ownership Now the hills are red with maples

My heart is leaping out to meet them, my eyes

cannot be full enough Though acid falls from the clouds

maples have gathered on the hillsides

in every direction See how they celebrate

They are wearing their brightest dresses

Come sisters, let me dance with you

I offer you a song

Let me paint

it red with 

passion 

You are

all the women

I have ever loved

-- Cheryl Savageau (1950- ), Abenaki/French-Canadian poet and nominee for the Pulitzer Prize from Mother/Land (2006)