‘Three Red Things’ by Christine Murray

Three Red Things

the three red things are:

a red umbrella with a black lace trim
spoke-shattered it belongs to my mother,
does not match my abstract and faux
snaky blouson jacket,

Alfred Schütze’s The Enigma of Evil
a memento mori from his old library,
its red cover is rain-glued-sodden.
I bind myself to a tree,

a shopping bag, berry-red
not much to say about it
is the third red thing.

And I am in the park,
moulded to the body of a tree

its roots are moving beneath my feet.
I am afraid it will tear up from the
soil’s hungry drinking as,

form crystallises

assumes its
almost shape,

within the silica of
this holding-skin,

beneath crystal swipe
and tungsten-lunge

into the exact point
and drain,

then seep
from the vessel-encasement
not sustainer.

Form crystallises

until,
form becomes

A Stone Dress

 

press-to
drop-by-drop
raindrop-and-sinew
the whole woman

not tamp-in
onto the still-living-soil
a new shape

embed-in
the bone and the
living-sinew-of
the still-warm blood

slowly-so
and infinitely blue
the milk-flow from crystallising breast,

material as silk-soft
(as) caul or veil
can be sweet as silk or rain or

blue,

rain sinews against and into
chalice of womb.
half-into the wall
and often not

 

still,
      a lone bird night-sings and a

tremor of rain runs liquidly down the bodice and gather,
as gradual operation of hand-upon-hand, hand-on-stone
make a pleat, a stitch, a fraying thread, on bodice sequined
for silica-plinthing.

" Lady in Red", 1932, painting by Wilson Henry Irvine.

Three Red Things the title poem of Three Red Things was published by Smithereens Press in 2013.

Image: ” Lady in Red”, 1932, painting by Wilson Henry Irvine.