Red.
like sunlight on henna-tattooed brown skin,
like iced-tea on the porch in the afternoon sun.
Sasuke's sharinggan
flag of Japan
engraved
in smooth
pale flesh.
that red stare
reminds me
of my hand
in my father's hands.
that red stare
compels me
to bleed
feathers.
in that red stare,
glaciers melt
into a mad rush of tides that
shatter glass
windows from the 31st floor
down
leaving trenches in the landscape
of my city
if i were a city
leaving people
like me
in a pool of
Red.
