Beneath the Stars

I am a red.

This heart that churns beneath callused skin.

Channels searing blood into crooked veins.

Blood that bubbles and gushes like magma.

Blood that spews out of punctured stomach

devoured by moist soil richer than midnight.

Red that once brewed lavender on collarbone.

Burgundy hair that clung to shoulders and

back. Lips miles from serpent’s apple.

Red clinging to rosebuds that paved

the road of a cottage we called home. Home I hold

in blistered hands that ache and invade

the wrinkled surface of black and white. Red

whose ink swirls like powder in cream.

Whose spiraled S’s whimper on top of

thick paper. Italic letters begging to be straightened.

I once sipped curves. Now gulp whiskey.

I am white.

This skin that clashes with black guns.

Silver barrels whose bullets puncture, occupy leg, arm,

brain of man sprawled, packed against muddy earth.

Hand imbedded in ground pulling, reaching,

stuck. Rain rushes down,—drop by pernicious drop—

aching to wash away wounds in time.

To create a human from crusted leftovers.

White of army enlistment notice. Notice

paper in hands once pinioned to red.

White of salty tears I kissed from tidal blues,

before they plunging down a chin’s cliff.

White of sunlight’s searing glare zapping

eyeballs like fireflies. Don’t stare. Kill.

Your fear is numerical.

Casualty 891.

I am blue.

This sky whose delicate hues whirled above me

like fingerprints, as I shot

contorted nose, puffy cheeks, cold eyes.

People I carried stronger than the armor of red, white,

Blue. Blue of the gentle waves reflected in eyes

that assuaged me on cool summer nights. Blue

as I stroked her extended stomach crammed with red, red,

Red.

Blue who gutted a man’s chest.

Let red drizzle, pour, cover my armor of white.

Felt his breath die beneath me. Felt him gasp for air.

Blue who used to cook, clean, breathe. Blue who lived

in denim seas and humble dreams. Blue whose pale flesh

melts into the ground like candle wax. Blue who clutched

a time when he believed in war, peace, something.

Allyssa Kasoff graduated from New York University in 2008 with a degree in Communications and Creative Writing. She uses Manhattan as a backdrop in many of her works. She is an avid reader, writer and explorer.