Now Do Red Mama

 Now do red, you dominator.  You who lorded over the younger siblings. You who knew must very well indeed, for red must be yours. Richtig!

Dawning. You saw the light through the red cellophane Christmas tree rope in 1953.  This red light bit deeply into your seeing soul.  It has always been there.

You saw red petals on the grass.  Of course, you had torn them there.  Just looking inside.

Frances Rosen’s deep red lipstick.  Nearly a form of black. Envy. You waited, but you never became a brunette.

The crayons.  The pencils and paints. Red always kept apart. 

Red yarn.  Imagine finding out about the scapegoat for the first time.

Always blood.  Wounds.  Births. All of it.

Red is its own category. 

(A sad fact.  If you wear your red lenses long the eyes and brain will adjust until the scene is no longer red, just dullish.)

The name Adam translates to red.  Does that tell us anything?